In the Shadows of Amn
by VigaHrolf
Summary: The Bhaalspawn saga is often told from the perspective of the heroes and villains that cut their way across Faerun. Join us for the tale of the Shadow Thief Sime as she's drawn into the maelstrom of the Bhaalspawn Aleria's passage through Athkatla.
1. Chapter 1 Meetings

~**Disclaimer: **BioWare, Black Isle, and WotC own copyright to Baldur's Gate, Amn, and the Baldur's Gate characters within, excepting Kelsey Coltrane is owned by Jason Compton. I own copyright to all characters not original to the game (Aleria and side characters)

~Note: This story will deviate from the existing plotline in places. Be warned.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

**_Meetings_**

The deceptively heavy and reinforced door slammed shut with a certain emphasis that was not at all lost on the room's sole remaining occupant. The blonde man, dressed in fraying excellence, sighed and put his feet up on a once richly brocaded cassock. He stared at the door and waited for the soft, tell tale scrape of the secret door under the stairs opening.

"That went better than I thought, and yet… could have gone a lot better," the blonde man said with a shrug as a slim, dusky skinned woman in black leathers emerged from the observation room.

"The important thing is that we've secured her help," the woman said as she assiduously began dusting herself off. She settled gracefully in one of the other chairs. She gave her head a shake, trying to shake some dust out of her long, black hair. "And Gaelan? You really, -really- need to clean back there. I get keeping the front of very down at the heels, but you could spare a moment for the hideaway."

Gaelan Bayle grinned widely and stroked his well maintained goatee. "I suppose I could, Sime. But, somehow watching you so thoroughly dust yourself off…"

She hurled a pillow at him with deadly accuracy. "Gaelan, you are dirty, no good scoundrel."

"All why the Shadowmaster had me play this part," he said with a grin while plucking the collar his faded, embroidered jacket.

"And I thought it was because you played a cretin so well," Sime said, flashing a grin of white teeth and snapping her fingers. "Some might say you play it so well you were born into it."

"It takes true skill to act stupid and make people believe it," the bard replied with a laugh.

"I just thought it involved going 'Coo-eee'," Sime replied, impersonating Bayle's 'trademark' affectation, "Until the marks' brains bleed from their ears."

Bayle laughed. "People thrive on feeling superior to others. Act the fool and people underestimate you. Their purses end up lighter, I end up wealthier and the Council remains quite pleased with me. Something you should keep well in mind."

A fine eyebrow arched as Sime's dark eyes narrowed. She studied the smiling blonde man, looking for some sign of danger. Bayle was not known to be a violent man, one who'd rather talk his way out of a problem than resort to steel. Still, these -were- trying times. Right hand very subtly sliding to the short sword at her hip, she asked incredulously, "Was that a threat, Bayle?"

"No Sime, it was not," Bayle said with a wide smile and a hint of a chuckle. "I don't threaten. If there was an _irresolvable_ problem between us, my sweet sandstorm, I certainly wouldn't take care of it in person. Blood is _so_ trying on the wardrobe." He brushed his sleeve disdainfully. "But it is a warning. You have risen fast and far since the… unpleasantness began. Now, no one would question your skill, but not all of us are as collegial as you and I. Just be careful. It would be unfortunate to lose a mind… and a face like yours." He smile crept into a friendly leer. "And you know, a face like yours is wasted in your duties. You should join my operations. I could find you an … excellent place."

Sime rolled her eyes then flashed a pleasant smile. Voice as sweet as honey, she replied, "I swear, no matter how much the Shadowmaster likes you, if you say 'underneath you' with that same leer, I'll cut your tonks off and use them for a new coinpouch."

Bayle touched a hand to his forehead and made a flourishing half bow from his chair. "Dear Sime, I would never make such a crude and boorish remark. I only meant to say that I believe your talents would best be used in the grift. A beautiful woman has an amazing ability to weaken a mark's resolve. Skulking about in the dark and rifling through drawers is best left to those to whom darkness is a blessing."

Sime snorted. "It seems that beauty can do more than just distract the mark." Grinning, she leaned forward, offering a view of her cleavage to Bayle. She never would be accused of having a great deal of it, but she did think what the gods had gifted her was quite eye catching.

"It has been known to happen, Sime," Bayle said with a smile, his eyes defiantly staying locked on hers. "But only to those weak in will."

Sime nodded and stood. "And Gaelan Bayle's never been weak on will?"

"Not for many years. It is why I still draw breath while many competitors have given up that habit."

"Indeed. Well, while this has been both fun and educational, I should report to the Shadowmaster. If he doesn't get his report before he gets a troupe of disgruntled paladins knocking on his door, he will be less than pleased."

"And that would be exceptionally unfortunate."

"Only for a short period," Sime said with a matter of fact shrug of her shoulders.

"Well, then I bid thee adieu. I do have another meeting in an hour. I should prepare," with a nod, Bayle stood and headed for the back of the house.

"Aren't you forgetting something, Bayle?"

"Oh, of course. Do be careful out there Sime. It's getting dangerous for us, and not just the fools and the incautious."

"Thanks Bayle, but I was thinking of something else," she arched an eyebrow impatiently and extended her hand. "You know, the money?"

"Ahh, the money," Bayle said with a laugh. Tossing the deceptively heavy pouch to Sime, he added, "Just testing your attention to detail."

"Right. Right," Sime replied, snagging the pouch out of the air. As Bayle disappeared into the kitchen with another musical laugh, she began wrapping the pouch in a heavy wool blanket to deafen the clink of coin and gem. Shadow Thief or no, walking through this part of the city with that much coin rattling would be a foolish thing. Slipping the bundle into her bag, she slipped out the side door and into an alley. She had an appointment to keep.

-----

Her journey through the winding side streets and alleys of the slums of Athkatla to the new dock headquarters passed with more event than she would have liked. The confrontation with a mangy mutt that seemed to think her calf would make a lovely meal was nothing new. However, having to flash steel to dissuade two thugs was unusual. The fact it was necessary after her identification was even more so.

She knew that their losses had been noticed, that the Organization's grip on the city had certainly weakened. But to the point a couple of thickheaded thugs would actually threaten a Shadow Thief, to consider robbing one, was a shocking revelation. To be fair, it wasn't that they were just considering robbing her. The dull gleam in their eyes indicated their intent to do more than that. And if she had enough time, she would have disabused them of the notion. But an insult to honor was nothing compared with displeasing the Shadowmaster. So, a little careful bladework and a few insults had sent those two crying off to mama.

As she worked the locks and wards on one of the guildhall's secret entrances, she reflected on just how the Organization's fortunes had fallen in the last few weeks. For instance, this contact with Aleria of Candlekeep. Apparently, it originally had been hatched as a way to make a pretty penny and tweak those insufferable Cowled jerks. Now, it was vitally needed funds and a contact with desperately needed muscle.

Nothing reflected that better than the fact that she was handling such an important assignment for Rhuar Darkshadow, the Shadowmaster's spymaster. Bayle hadn't been kidding that it was a rapid rise for one Sime, late of Calimport. She'd been promoted from the ranks of infilitrators to running this operation after the disappearance of the two former operation managers. The first one, Tolan, one of the Darkshadow's best, simply disappeared weeks ago. The second one, Dyana, well… they'd found her. Well, parts of her. Here and there. The look of frozen terror on her face was enough to keep Sime on her guard, even here in the heart of the Shadow Thieves territory.

Tolan and Dyana weren't the only losses, she reflected as she slipped inside the door and set about resetting the traps. The sudden guild war had decimated the ranks, and not just the low levels. She'd lost a couple of old friends, Guan even daring to defect to this new guild. And he'd been a well respected specialist in second story work. Add in the rumor that one of the Council had disappeared two nights ago, well things were not looking good.

Which explained those thugs and her desire to grow a second set of eyes in the back of her head.

And why the Shadowmaster now needed the help of an Order knight. A bloody _Tyrran_ Order knight to boot.

She came to a stop outside one of the entrances to the Shadowmaster's interview chambers, waiting for the guards to check her out. Yorrin, a massive, bearded blonde man from Icewind Dale and one of the Shadowmaster's personal armsmen, stepped out of the darkness. "You're running a little late, Sime," he said with a nod.

Sime handed over her bag for inspection. "Ran into some punks who were thinking of robbing me."

"You teach 'em a lesson?" he said as he carefully and professionally searched the bag.

"If I had, I'd be even later. Just showed them some steel and gave them a tongue lashing."

Yorrin snorted and proceeded to professionally pat down Sime. "Well, I'll make sure Harrik sends some men around to reinforce that messing with our kind is a bad idea." His search was short and effective and the big man deftly managed to relieve her of most of her weapons. She had to grin that he'd missed one. Then again, if she couldn't slip at least one weapon past even the best guards, she wouldn't be worth much in her job.

"You know, after that pat down, you owe me at least a drink," Sime teased.

Yorrin simply shrugged and handed her back her bag. "You're clean. Shadowmaster's waiting."

"Thanks Yorrin," she said with a smile.

The smile was returned. "You're welcome. It's nice a few of you actually appreciate the need for security, especially now. Some aren't so understanding."

"What can I say, we're not exactly a trusting bunch," she said with a shrug. "No one likes being unarmed. So some are gonna grump."

"And some are professional enough to adapt," Yorrin said with a nod.

"Course, it helps that the one doing the search is as handsome as you Yorrin," she said with a bright, teasing grin.

Yorrin chuckled. "I know you'd never consider the time wasted, but flirting with the armsman while the master waits isn't exactly wise."

"Can't help it. It's that desert blood, runs too hot," she said with a wink. Yorrin opened the door with a smile and ushered her into the Shadowmaster's presence.

The room itself, deep below the street, was large and richly appointed. Not so much because of the occupant's taste for luxury but that such a chamber had to be. The rare objects d'art, the Matzican wood desk and the thick carpets served to reinforce that the Shadowmaster truly was a man of great influence and power and not to be trifled with. The appearance of power often times was just as important as real power, sometimes even more so. Confidence and swagger were important weapons in the battle of wills, and the Shadowmaster never left a tool unused.

Of course, the fact that the carpets hid pressure triggers effectively, the desk could stop any crossbow bolt and at least three of those rare vases contained weapons was just an extra bit of prudence.

Crossing the carpet, she nodded to the cluster of top advisors already gathered. Darkshadow calmly sat to the Shadowmaster's left. Kelvin the bookkeeper to Darkshadow's left fidgeted in his chair as he consulted a heavy ledger. Yzabel, the tempestuous head of the Knives, leaned grumpily against a wooden column. Nector, the Shadowmaster's chief armsman stood impassively behind the Shadowmaster's chair to the right.

The Shadowmaster himself, the famed Aran Linvail sat calmly in his heavy leather chair. His finely chiseled features were perfectly composed. He could even be called handsome if one didn't consider the mind that resided behind that pleasant face. His nut brown eyes regarded her calmly and pleasantly as she approached. He spared a slight smile for her. "Ahh, Sime. There you are. I take it that all went well with our new friend?"

She handed the bag to Kelvin. Screwing up her courage, she nodded, "Yes Shadowmaster. While she was not entirely pleased to hand over the money, she has agreed to meet with you."

"Please, Sime, I am no slave to title. Aran will do." He looked over to Kelvin, who quickly nodded. "And that is good news."

"I still think it is foolish to involve an Order knight in our affairs," Yzabel growled. "We can handle this ourselves."

"Yet, so far we have little success in that, have we Yzabel?" Linvail said mildly. "We still do not know the leaders of this new Guild, and it continues to attack. We continue to fall back. Our losses continue to mount. Considering the pattern of these attacks and some of our theories, an Order Knight might be exactly what we need."

"And what's to stop this Order Knight from just wreaking havoc from the heart of our defenses? Of striking a blow for -Justice-? Or even worse, be working for whoever's leading that other guild!" She spat into the fireplace. "I don't trust it, Linvail."

"It is a possibility I've considered. However, I do not think it's likely. Sime, would you agree?"

"Yes sir," Sime said hurriedly, a little shocked to be dragged into this high level discussion. Knowing her word choice might just decide whether she would meet Yzabel and those hard green eyes in a dark alley some night, she chose them carefully. "This Aleria, should she chose to move against us, would not use this level of subterfuge. Yes, she has shown a greater… adaptability and creativity than we usually expect from the shiny armor set, but negotiating under such false pretenses is extremely unlikely."

"Not all of those 'knights' are above such subterfuge," Darkshadow pointed out calmly.

"True, but she hasn't been able to secure any other ally in getting to Spellhold, not ever her Order. You have to understand, Imoen is desperately important to her. Based on my predecessors' reports and some investigation of my own, she is hell-bent to get her sister back." She smiles crookedly. "Enough that she is 'willing to swallow her pride and honor and deal with these dregs and dastards.'"

"Dastards?" Linvail said with a hint of a smile. "I rather like that."

"Well, she was on her third cup of wine," Sime said with a grin.

"So, you're drinking buddies with this Aleria now, are you?" growled Yzabel. Her voice lacked its previous bite, showing she was grumping more out of habit than specific reason.

"No, but a few silvers and a serving girl's dress picks you up a lot of secrets."

"And where was that serving girl's dress?" Yzabel fired back with a crude smile.

Linvail held up a hand. "I do not concern myself how my agents get their information, so you do not need to either. I'm sure Sime stayed with in the bounds set by Darkshadow, so let us use the information."

"As you wish, Shadowmaster," Yzabel said contritely, bowing her head. However calm her voice, those green eyes glittered dangerously.

"Indeed." The Shadowmaster smiled. "Now, it seems Aleria of Candlekeep has arrived and is making her way downstairs as we speak. This should be an interesting interview. Sime?"

"Yes sir?" she said, already preparing to disappear out one of the side doors.

"Please join us. With your knowledge of our new ally, your impressions of her will be most useful."

"Of course, Shadowmaster," Sime said with a bow. At the Shadowmaster's acknowledging nod, she slipped into a corner to wait and watch. The coming meeting would definitely be… interesting.


	2. Chapter 2 Impressions

Chapter 2 - Impressions

The official doors to the Shadowmaster's chambers swung open with the aid of hidden hydraulics. The effect was designed to impress, but like so many things around the Shadowmaster, they served more than one purpose. Yes, they demonstrated wealth and power, but they also gave extra defensive value, preventing the doors from being easily brute forced. Just another layer of the interlocking defenses surrounding the Shadowmaster.

Those defenses paled in comparison with the seven figures that walked through those same doors. All seven bore weapons in the Shadowmaster's presence, an unusual breach in protocol. From the stony looks on the faces of the guards in the hallway, they had been ordered to allow it and liked it not at all. Now was not the time to be letting strangers near the Shadowmaster. Allowing that was galling when so many of their number were barred from doing so. But allowing Order knights to do so obviously stung like sand-laden wind.

Danger or no, the seven did make for a magnificent sight. They looked like they'd come right out of the stories Santiana used to read to her, a band of mythical legends walking from the desert to right wrongs and drive back the evil Sultan's armies. Hopefully, they'd be doing just that for them, although she'd admit that many might consider herself and the Shadowmaster the evil that needed driving off.

She leaned back in her chair and watched them move into the chamber with deceptive precision, slipping into a loose defensive circle. As each took up their station, she quickly reviewed her personal dossiers on each. Some were very complete and others, no matter what her effort, still had far too many gaps in them for comfort.

To the left stood the darkly handsome and exceedingly intense Lord Valygar Corthala. His family, once powerful, had long ago fallen on hard times. The last of the line rarely was in the city, and recently had run afoul of the Cowlies. What she'd gleaned indicated it had to do with the strange sphere that had appeared in the slums recently and that, whatever the situation was, it had been rather quickly and finally resolved. Apparently with the death of a number of Cowlies, which was a benefit for all involved.

Standing to his right was another nobleman from a family long in name and short on glory. Or in this case, even respectability. Anomen, son of the notorious Cor Derlyn. The man made drunkards look wonderful, especially when you added in his old habits of whoring and his rather ruthless business nature, with at least two significant attacks on business opponents through her very organization to his name. The son, however was a Helmite priest and a candidate for the Order of the Radiant Heart. He certainly looked the part, handsome face with well trimmed hair, intense, deep brown eyes, spotless mail. He would be quite dashing if he stopped sneering and glaring at all around him like it was comprised of leper spit.

On the right flank was the mildly notorious Kazakuran bounty hunter, Yoshimo. She still didn't know why he traveled in Aleria's company, he didn't seem the type. Not as unsavory as most bounty hunters, he at least could be charming. He also showed no lack of bravery, for Renal still wanted his scalp. Likely the reason he was not present at this meeting. Still, there were many gaps in her knowledge on him, especially for someone who'd been operating in Athkatla so long.

Opposite him was the wizard Kelsey Coltrane. She'd heard rumors that he was more sorcerer than wizard, a more wild talent than trained. But, arcane knowledge was not her specialty, that was Darkshadow's, and he'd been unwilling to share that with her. What she did know is he was the son of a minor merchant house who'd walked away from the counting house to make his fortune on the road. He looked far from comfortable here, but the defiant set of the jaw showed he at least intended to play at confidence.

At the front of the formation stood the three most powerful members of this troupe, this heroing band. Standing to the left was a man whose files in Organization were long and legendary. Sir Keldorn Firecam, long serving member of the Order of the Radiant Heart. Inquisitor. Knight Errant. Thorn in the side of not just wizards but quite a number of thieves. She knew that Yzabel had no love for the man after a confrontation years ago. The set of his broad shoulders and the hardness around his eyes showed his distaste for being here, but to his credit, his handsome, weathered face showed so little of it. No wonder he had been a formidable enemy for so long.

The striking, leonine half elf to the right had the thinnest file of this cadre. She knew Jaheira was Tethyrian and a long companion of Aleria's. She'd been with her in Baldur's Gate and the two had traveled together since. She had been married, but her husband, one Khalid, had since disappeared and was believed dead. She was believed to be a Harper and had been involved in the fall of Ployer, nothing she'd lose sleep over. But beyond that, little was known. Direct observation gleaned little more, her suntanned face and green eyes an impenetrable mask. All she did know is that Jaheira would be exceedingly dangerous to cross, more so than Sir Keldorn. Keldorn would play by rules, she did not think those same rules would bother Jaheira much.

Finally, she came to the key figure in this drama. Aleria of Candlekeep, daughter of the sage Gorion and spawn of the God of Murder. Hero of Baldur's Gate and Savior of the Sword Coast. Order Knight and sworn of Tyrran. She carried a holy artifact, a blade named, according to her sources, Carsomyr. That same blade hung from her back. She slew Lord Jierdan Firkraag, who, to everyone's surprise had been an ancient red dragon. Not only did she slay the beast, but she wore his hide. Cromwell had done an amazing job with the maroon scales, creating a beautiful suit of armor and accenting it with just the right amount of gold inlay and engraving. A more formidable woman she could not be, especially with such allies behind her.

Aleria herself though, was a walking contradiction. The Daughter of Murder who served the God of Justice, more proof that the universe definitely had a sense of humor. A beautiful, striking woman with dark red hair and brilliant green eyes, but moved with no awareness of it. That armor fit her like a skin but instead of using that to distract, she moved with simple economy of motion. She was a walking embodiment of dedication and the way her eyes fixed on Linvail and never wavered only brought that home.

That was one woman not happy to see any of them. But she knew how desperate she was to get her sister back. And because of that, this woman might just save them yet.

After a moment's silence, the Shadowmaster's face broke into a wide, friendly grin. "Welcome to my humble office. I've looked forward to seeing you. I am, as you know, Aran Linvail. Can I offer you refreshment? Perhaps a glass of Sembian red?"

Aleria arched an eyebrow and her green eyes narrowed slightly at the offer of her favorite vintage. "No thank you," she said, inclining her head in a polite but formal nod. "And I am Aleria of Candlekeep, as you know. Now that the pleasantries are through, could we please get to the business at hand?"

"Right to the point, then?" the Shadowmaster replied, his friendly smile never fading. "That's fine with me. You are a very capable person, and I wish to propose a trade of services."

"I propose that you give me what I have coming already. I have paid," Aleria replied with icy precision, her lips thinning. A number of her companions tensed behind her. She hadn't thought it possible for such a handsome man, but Anomen's sneer twisted his face into a dark mirror. Apparently there [i]was[/i] something to the tales of the Derlyn temper.

"I apologize if you feel you have been done wrong," the Shadowmaster said soothingly, opening his hands apologetically. "I assure you, all that you have paid is being put to good use."

"Good use?" Aleria replied, eyebrow arching severely. "Somehow I doubt that just by the nature of your organization. That aside, Linvail, I paid that ransom on the promise of assistance in rescuing Imoen and tracking down Irenicus. I have wasted much time already, I have no patience to waste more."

"But these things take time," the Shadowmaster replied quickly. "In truth, we have been working long before you gave us the gold. Only a few minor points remain, but they must be addressed. First and foremost, you will be compensated for the gold you have paid," He waved to Nector and the powerfully built armsman stepped forward with a small satchel which he handed to Aleria. "I give you these magical items; they are yours to keep regardless of what comes."

As Aleria hefted the bag and looked inside, Jaheira replied scathingly, "Oh, how generous. Do you expect that to compensate while you delay our more important concerns? We have friends in need of rescue and vengeance both!"

Passing the bag back to Kelsey, Aleria turned to Jaheira, "And we will." She turned her attention to the Shadowmaster, her eyes hard. "We will."

"Of course," he replied with a nod. "I fully understand your eagerness to set off after Imoen. I assure you that the time will come soon. It just takes time to allocate the funds and make the appropriate arrangements."

"Time? This delay is troubling. Is there some problem that I am not aware of?"

"No, no, no, everything is as it should be," the Shadowmaster smoothly lied. "There are merely some added difficulties that we have encountered. I regret that I must ask a few tasks of you"

"More errands?" grumbled Lord Corthala. "Aleria seeks both kin and foe."

"And vengeance," added Jaheira, jaw tight.

"Indeed," Aleria said grimly. "Need I remind you that there were no 'secondary conditions' mentioned when this deal was struck."

"I know, I know, you are tired and have worked hard already," said with a carefully and artfully placed sigh. Rubbing his chin, he deployed a carefully couched truth. "I apologize, but this guild war... it prevents us going further. Much of our resources are tied up in its prosecution. Your assistance will only speed our ability to launch your rescue mission."

"Indeed," Aleria replied, her voice flat. "So, what is the task?"

The Shadowmaster nodded, gracefully acknowledging the concession. "Strange things are afoot on the Docks. Shipments are disappearing, as are my employees with them. We are significantly weakened by this. I think it unlikely you would be captured or wooed to the enemy. If you go to the docks and bolster the guard on the shipments it will strengthen our position. We have an important shipment coming in tonight. My present guard captain, a woman by the name of Mook, is running the operation. Adding your support should ensure it goes forward. Also, if you do note anything unusual, please send a report to me."

To her credit, the sheer annoyance and anger the knight must be feeling barely shined through. Eyebrow arched, she gave the Shadowmaster a stern look. "And what is the nature of the shipment?"

The Shadowmaster grimaced slightly. "Ah, Aleria, I must admit that the goods aboard would not be met well by the city guards. Weapons mostly, but I defend their use. The guild we are warring with are not like we. As dark as the Shadow Thieves are, we do not overstep our bounds. This new guild is different."

"If you seek the moral high ground in this matter, it is indeed with the Shadow Thieves. A surprising thing, but I assure you that I am true to my word."

"Somehow I find it difficult to detect any high ground in this affair," Aleria replied.

"Perhaps. I leave the finer analysis of philosophy and morality to the theologians and priests. However, Aleria, examine your options here. Even by meeting with me, you have closed other doors. I know of your other offer, and I know why you chose our side. As unpalatable as it may be, attending to the tasks I ask is the only way to achieve your goal."

"I shall never again say this, but I believe we must agree to Aran's task," Sir Keldorn said, shrugging his mailed shoulders. "If our enemy is his enemy, we may best achieve our goal by helping this guild."

"Sir Keldorn! I cannot believe what I am hearing!" Anomen shouted, his obviously boiling anger bursting through. "You of all people should know we must cleanse the lot of them!"

The rash outburst provoked a sudden and deadly shift. Nector's hand went to the sword at his hip and Yzabel, who had been insolently sulking against a pillar straightened into deadly tension. Kelvin reached for something under his giant ledger while Darkshadow himself seemed to move less. As she reached for a small dagger she'd hidden in her left bracer, she watched Aleria's company. The reaction on the other side was just as subtle but as deadly. Hands reached for weapons and already the wizard shaded for cover.

She'd fight, but she knew she would die. She had an angle on the wizard, and with his death, the Shadowmaster might have a chance. Damn that Anomen and his insufferable temper!

Sir Keldorn seemed to have reached a similar conclusion. Voice calm, he glared at the younger knight. "And that would accomplish what? Death on a grand scale, and make our rescue of Imoen all the harder. Her life and well-being must come first, Anomen. You know this."

Anomen stiffened as if he'd been slapped. "Very well, but this place is just as deserving of our wrath as of our help."

"The rightness or wrongness of our actions here can be debated in full, -again- at a later time," Aleria said with the same level voice that Sir Keldorn had used. "However, we need their aid. We have set our feet upon this path, and I will follow it to its end."

"Of course, my Lady," Anomen said hastily, much of the heat draining from his face.

Relaxing back into her chair, she smiled. Interesting, the rebuke of Aleria carried far more weight than from the man he squired for. How very interesting.

Tugging at the skirt of her cuirass, Aleria turned her attention back to the Shadowmaster. "We will aid you in this matter."

"My deepest thanks," the Shadowmaster said with a slight bow, showing not a single sign of acknowledging what moments before almost became a bloodbath. "I will send one of my top operatives to serve as a liaison between myself and Mook, to make sure all works as planned." He looked over to where Sime sat. "This is Sime. She will be my agent and factor. She will wait for you at the [i]Sea's Bounty[/i] and bring you in contact with Mook."

Sime's stomach suddenly sank through the floor. One of the dangers of being thought of as good at your job was that your superiors tended to exploit it. She knew why she'd been singled out. She had been running the operation. She knew them, she had the most experience.

She also knew that she was also distinctly expendable.

So, as those seven sets of eyes fixed themselves on her, she did all she could. She smiled and nodded and did her level best not to pass out. Those stares ranged from the mildly interested to the outright hostile.

This was going to be fun.

Aleria studied her, the intensity of her stare seeming to burn right through her. After a moment, the knight nodded. "Very well. A pleasure to meet you, Sime."

"Likewise, Lady Aleria," she said, her voice calm and even, belying the leaps her stomach was making in her belly.

"I shall see you this evening." She turned back to the Shadowmaster. "I take it there is nothing else we need to discuss?"

"Not at the moment, no," he said.

"Good. We will take care of this task. And Linvail?"

"Yes, Aleria?"

"I work with you out of necessity. I trust our dealings will be… forthright and that you will deliver on your promise." Her eyes turned to green ice. "If you do not, our truce will end and we will find each other enemies. You do not want me as an enemy."

"Certainly not. I give you my word, Aleria. We will deliver on our promises."

"Excellent," she replied politely, all trace of the cold anger beneath gone. "We shall talk again in the morning."

"I wait for it eagerly."

With that, Aleria turned on her heel and led her companions out the door. As the doors swung shut on them, Linvail strolled over to the drink cabinet. Pouring himself a glass of dark brandy, he shrugged. "While not quite the interview I'd hoped for, we have secured her help."

"Indeed," said Darkshadow. "The Helmite may be a problem."

"Simple enough to rid ourselves of him," Yzabel said. "It would serve him right too, insulting us in our home."

"I think he will be kept in check," the Shadowmaster said with a wave of his hand. "And striking against the allies we worked so hard to acquire would only make our situation worse. No, we do not waste useful tools like him." Sitting back down, he looked over at Sime. "And Sime, speak to Harrik about drawing better weapons. I fear that tonight will not go without a hitch. Best you be prepared."

"Of course, Shadowmaster," Sime replied, standing hurriedly.

"And it is Aran, Sime. Aran. The title is tiring."

"Of course… Aran," she said, feeling distinctly uncomfortable not using his title.

"Good. Now, go and speak with Harrik. And then meet with Mook. You will have arrangements to make."

Sime nodded and slipped out a side door. Life, she felt, was about to get exceptionally interesting.

The only trick now was surviving it.


	3. Chapter 3 Revelations

**Chapter 3** - _**Revelations**_

After her interview, Sime slipped over to the armory for heavier combat kit. While she trusted her weapons and her well worn leathers, she'd rather have better gear if actual _real_ fighting was going to occur. Since it seemed oh too likely it would, she definitely wanted upgrades. Especially ones ordered by the Shadowmaster himself. That meant better gear overall, and it also meant avoiding those painful equipping fees.

That was the reason she was following the ever grim-faced Harrik high up into the poky attic that was the near sovereign domain of Ailia, the Guild's chief armorer, for full outfitting. Ailia possessed a special place amongst the more colorful characters that filled the Guild. For one, she was an elf, a rarity amongst the ranks. Add in that she'd been with the Guild longer than anyone knew, or if they did know, were willing to say. Everyone knew she'd been their chief armorer for decades, but that seemed to be the extent anyone knew of her history. What her history lacked, her reputation bolstered because there was no question about her skill with leather and thread.

However, for as much as people wanted her armor, no one really wanted to meet with _her_. Her brusqueness and directness were the stuff of legend. In a Guild where hierarchy was of pointed import, she wielded the artist's blunt equanimity spectacularly, treating everyone from footpad to councilmember with the same brusqueness. Tongues still wagged about one of the Council who had objected so strenuously to her rough handling of him he'd physically threatened her. Her response was to threaten to quit. The Councilmember found himself apologizing and subsidizing a rather nice home for her. Not that anyone knew if she used it. Or even where it was, just that it existed.

You just didn't argue with Ailia. Or question her. You simply did what you were told as quickly as possible.

Harrik dropped her off in Ailia's workroom with a curt but polite nod and the gray haired elf got up from her workbench. The weight of many centuries lined the old elf's face but her black eyes still burned from beneath sparse brows. She wore a finely stitched and rich robe of brown with a number of measuring ropes hanging from her neck. Stepping into the light, she motioned for Sime to stand on a raised dais. She hastened to obey, standing in the middle of it with her hands at her sides. As she stood, Ailia studied her intently, circling around her twice. The old elf stopped in front of her, her eyes narrowed then she nodded.

"Strip." This was the first word Ailia had uttered since she walked in.

The order was rude and preemptory, but there really wasn't much she could say. It -was- Ailia, so she shucked off her belt and boots, then pulled off her leathers. She dropped them in a small pile, and now dressed only a brief linen tunic and her smallclothes, she took her position again in the center of the dais.

As the old elf began circling again, Sime started to truly wish she'd worn a little more under her armor. She should have at least picked a thicker and longer shirt. Not that she usually did, but standing there in the drafty room being studied like a piece of meat made one want more conservative clothing.

"Yes. Doable. Good coloring," Ailia muttered to herself. Stepping on the dais, she pulled the measuring ropes off her neck. Methodically and unhurriedly, Sime found herself being measured in every way possible. In fact, due to the rather personal nature of a few of those measurements, she had to wonder whether or not they were entirely necessary.

Not that she was going to be complaining. If the old elf wanted to cop a few feels, who was she to complain? Well, more accurately, what would it matter?

Finally, the old elf woman seemed satisfied. At least, that's what she assumed the woman's curt nod and self satisfied snort meant. Straightening, she hung her measuring ropes over her neck again and shuffled into the back. "Wait here."

The old elf woman disappeared into the voluminous back of her workshop, leaving Sime standing alone and rather chilly on the dais. Wrapping her arms around herself, she hopped from foot to foot to keep warm. She tried to review her dossiers and assignments as the minutes stretched on, but keeping focused on work was rather hard with one's ass hanging out.

An unbidden voice chided that a properly trained woman could recite the thirty love poems of Musharr and the twenty Stories of the Veil with perfect pitch and cadence even if she were nude (especially then), but she pushed it down and away. That was another reason she left, she had no intention of being someone's play toy. Finally, out of frustration and embarrassment, she called into the back, "Um, can I get dressed?"

"Bah," was the only reply from the back.

Not willing to wait any longer, she grabbed her vest and pants and pulled them back on. Feeling a little more herself, she found a bench and sat down to wait. She ran through some notes and went over her mental map of the docks as soft, indistinct noises came from the back.

After a long wait, well over an hour, she figured, Ailia returned, carrying a bundle of folded leathers and a pair of boots. Her eyes fixed on Sime and they narrowed. Eyebrows arching, she nodded back towards the dais. Stifling a sigh, Sime shed her clothing again and took her place back on the dais.

Ailia nodded and started handing Sime the new armor piece by piece. The pants and cuirass were the color of rich coffee and as supple as suede. The leather was exceptionally well oiled and smooth as silk. She slipped it on and marveled at not just how excellently it fit but how flexible it was. Usually new armor was stiff and hard but this flowed better than her old and well broken in armor.

Stretching and twisting, she caught sight of herself in a full length mirror. The dark leather not only fit well but complimented her coloring wonderfully. "Ailia, this armor… it's beautiful!"

"Of course," the old elf snorted derisively. "It is one of mine. All my armor fits. This," she tapped the center of the cuirass. "is enchanted. More protection and will keep you warm. Desert girls always cold." She snorted then handed her a pair of boots. "These muffle sound better. Keep desert girl from being heard and getting throat cut. Blood hard to get out of leather."

She turned and twisted on the dais to get the full view of the new armor. It was beautiful but functional. She could move virtually any direction without a creak or rustle, no matter how elaborate a motion. Beauty and functionality, a wonderful thing. Seeing this armor, she fully understood why people put up with Ailia. Yes, she was grumpy as hell and definitely a good bit pervy, but what an amazing seamstress. Smiling, she gave the old elf a hug. "Ailia, it's a work of art. How can I repay you?"

The old elf pulled back, obviously flustered. Waving a hand, she grumped. "Aran pay bill. You? Keep whole. Blood bad for good leather."

"Will do, Ailia. Thank you!" With another wide smile, one that almost reflected in the elf's pinched face, she skipped out of Ailia's domain. As she pulled the door closed, she thought she could even hear a merry whistle from the elven armorer. Smiling widely, she bounded down the stairs and searched out Harrik.

The a small smile cracked the graying armsman's face at her approach. "Seems Ailia did her magic again. Pretty as a desert flower you are, Sime."

"This armor must be something," Sime said with a wide grin, cocking her left hip saucily. "To inspire the famed Harrik to be so free with compliments."

He shrugged and reached for a small oilcloth wrapped bundle. "It is lovely, Sime. But your blandishments won't work on an old hand like me. I'm immune. Now, shall we talk business?"

Sime nodded, dropping back into professional mode as she walked over to the table. "Of course, Harrik. What do you have for me?"

He undid the bundle and started handed her items. "Straightforward gear. Most of your tools are up to par. But if you run into any trouble… we'd like you to come back to us. The short sword has a magic sharpened edge. Should help. The hand crossbow here was worked over to give the bolts a little extra oomph and to hit a little harder. And this…" He handed her a slim, capped case with hip straps. "Fifteen bolts with a shock charge. Straps right to your leg and ties off so that you don't have to worry about bolts flying out while you're doing one of your crazy acrobatic stunts."

"They are not crazy," she replied as she strapped the case to her left thigh.

"You like crawling along roofing beams upside down. That's crazy."

"Gets me in and out without being seen."

"I always preferred the windows. Lot safer. Not as far to fall."

"Can get messier that way. And sometimes the windows are way up."

"And that's why we've got nuts like you," he said with an almost paternal smile as Sime finished equipping herself. "Now, try not to get yourself killed. Shadowmaster's spent good coin and time on you girl. Hate to see it wasted."

"You and me both, Harrik. You and me both."

"Now get moving. Mook'll be waiting, and you know her and her patience."

Sime smiled. "That I do."

"Mask watch your back Sime."

"You too, Harrik." With one last smile, she slipped out the door and started making her way to the warehouse. She had a bunch of surprises to drop on Mook and she couldn't wait.

------

As she worked her way through the warehouses, she considered her options. She wanted to surprise Mook, and walking through the front door really didn't qualify. So, that meant sneaking inside a Shadow Thief warehouse. During a guild war, no less. And if that didn't make it hard enough, Mook set up all the security. So, it should only be marginally less difficult than to sneak into the Shadowmaster's bathroom during his bath and find out if the stories about his 'natural prowess' were true or just the typical propaganda.

She quickly decided on a rooftop approach. She knew Mook would have the street and alleyways trapped and watched. The same was true about the roof, but the roofs were her domain. Heights never fazed her and walls most considered impossible she could work her way up. Came from her upbringing. The only way out had always been up, so it came to her as naturally as breathing.

Skirting below the ridgeline of the nearest warehouse's roof, she grinned, remembering the disputes over who'd get her for their work. Nhelus and his second story men wanted her for the work in the noble districts while Darkshadow wanted the young Sime for his scouts. It hadn't been a hard choice. Jewels and gems were nice, but secrets, secrets were the true coin of the realm.

She carefully removed her gnomish made spyscope from its packaging and started scanning the warehouse's roofline for the guards. As she played the scope over the broken lines of the rooftop, she grinned. These moments reminded her of her childhood. Sneaking around the balconies and the eaves of the harem, hunting for the snippets and secrets Jocana desired. The aging courtesan, once the Master's favorite, paid the young, darkhaired Sime with smiles, sweets, stories and the best, her own secrets. One of those secrets had given Sime her freedom, a princely prize.

She counted off the guards. Two in the corners, watching the likely street approaches. One watched from the shadows of the north chimney. Another watched the rear in case someone snuck past the street sentries. The final one watched the wharf approach. A very solid set up with all the likely approaches scrutinized. She even had most of the unlikely approaches watched. However, for someone not worried about a little line work, there was a flaw to be exploited. The chimney watchman wasn't being diligent and had too much roof to cover. Simply toss a line from the south east corner to those roof supports and shimmy over.

Carefully she picked her way down to the south east corner, playing out a length of silk rope. The soft, tightly wound coils were one of her most precious possessions and had saved her life more times than she cared to count. Scanning the dead end alley between the two buildings for watchers and finding none, she turned her attention to the roof guards again. Keeping her eyes on the guards, she tied the right slipknot on a roof support and then fixed a grapnel onto the other end. Waiting for the watchers to be looking elsewhere, she tossed the line. The grapnel hooked into a wooden beam. A single tug proved it was secure.

Swinging out onto the line, she smiled. This was fun. Sure, if they spotted her she'd likely catch a quarrel or two, but what was life without a little risk. Quickly, she worked her way upside down across the line. Coming to the wall, she swung herself up on the ledge and then up onto the roof. With a couple of carefully designed tugs, she pulled her line free from the other warehouse and coiled her line.

She'd made it this far, now she just had to make her way inside. The slightly sloped roof only had one main access point, and that one was guarded. While she probably could disable him, Mook would be rather put out by her knocking out one of her people. So, that left the second story windows, none very big as they were there just to let in light.

Sidling along the roof, she found her window. Knowing the interior layout, she knew that the support posts and office blocked the sightlines to this one. Hooking into a roof support, she rappelled down a few feet to the window. The glass had been recently recaulked, but that was no matter. A little quick knifework freed the window in its frame. Sliding it inside, she worked her way inside the sill and then pulled the line in after her.

Replacing the window, she dropped silently to the catwalk lining the wall. She was inside. Just had to skirt the interior guards and get inside the office. Piece of …

*CLICK*

Few things were as unmistakable as the sound of a crossbow latch being released. A very familiar voice chuckled. "The windows, Sime?"

"This side of the building wasn't guarded," she replied, placing her hands atop her head. "Figured I could get past the guards, slip in here." She sighed. "So, what gave me away?"

"Two things. One, I've got spotters you missed. Caught you coming along the roofline. Only the supremely confident or stupid would make a rooftop approach in broad daylight. Since my spotter lost you, and kudos for that, figured it had to be someone good. So, I figured to just wait."

"Okay," she replied, silently cursing the luck that got her spotted. Must have had someone high… maybe someone up top the light? Must be. And the new armor didn't blend as well with the tarred roofs. "That tells me how you knew I was coming, but how did you know it was me?"

"That's the other part, Sime. I knew Aran had sent you over here. Ol' Mook has her sources. So, when I heard someone was coming in over the roofs, well, had to be you."

"And if it wasn't?"

"That's what the crossbow's for, eh?"

"So, can I turn around yet Mook ?"

"Sure thing," The crossbow clicked as Mook engaged the latch. As she did, Sime turned around and smiled at the older woman slinging the crossbow over her shoulder. Mook looked up and smiled, her blue eyes dancing with amusement. Waggling a finger at her, she growled, "Next time Sime, use the front door."

"Front doors are boring," Sime replied with an exaggerated pout.

"Yes, but they're less likely to get your little backside stuffed full of quarrels from jumpy guardsmen." She took a step forward, placing both hands on Sime's shoulders. "This guild war's gotten people way too jumpy. Already had to deal with some longshoreman nearly getting his throat cut for pissin' in the wrong place." She squeezed Sime's shoulders and smiled at her, cutting her off. "Now I know you're good, but you still got spotted. If it were someone not so understanding of your…" She brushed a few loose strands of hair out of Sime's face. "Need to challenge yourself, you might have ended up dead. Which would make me sad and piss Aran off royally. Possibly enough to have you brought back just so he could kill you personally."

"Okay, okay, okay, Mook! I'll behave." Sime held up her hands in surrender. "Well, as much as I can."

"Good," Mook said with a smile. "Now, come here, littl'un. Been too long since you've been back to see your Mook."

Sime grinned and gave the woman who was the closest thing she had to a mother a big hug. "Well, things have been… busy. Really busy."

"Don't I know it!" she laughed. "Now, come back to the office. I got a feeling you've got news from Aran for me, no?"

------

The two women settled into battered overstuffed chairs in what Mook's office. Other than the two chairs there was a writing table, a weapons rack and an elaborate silver urn and brazier. The urn itself was blackened and scratched in a few places, but even then it was a priceless artifact. Because it was the device that Mook used to create her Guild famous coffee.

Both women had some of that black gold in well loved ceramic mugs. Steam still rising off their mugs, Mook shifted in her seat and studied Sime. "So, now that you've managed to blackmail, cajole and threaten me for a mug of coffee, are you going to tell me what's up?"

"You offered!"

"Well, I didn't feel like wasting all the time with the actual threatening. So, I just credited you with it." She nodded and shrugged, the right corner of her mouth crinkling in a half smile. "Take the credit, Sime. You're not really good at the threatening."

Sime glared at Mook. "I can be intimidating."

"Sime dear," Mook said with a warm smile. "You are many things; smart, pretty, quick. Intimidating? Not so much." She leaned in. "Now, spill the story already."

Sime sipped some more of her coffee and lowered the mug. "Fine. Be that way. We both know the shipment coming in tonight is important. And with the problems we've been having, not just with the attacks, but with security, there's concern that the other guild might know. So," she shrugged slightly, hiding her glee, "You're getting reinforcements."

"We're already light handed as it is, especially with that Mae'Var mess. So unless Aran's cutting his own guard, it's got to be someone from outside. Which would explain why you're here," Mook said calmly, gesturing with her mug. "So, that means mercs." She sighed. "Mercs are always trouble. Most aren't worth a pint of piss. The ones that are, you have to spend half the time worrying you'll get a dagger in the back."

"Don't think you'll have to worry about that, Mook."

"Well, crossing us usually isn't smart, though these days…" She shrugs. "So, you're saying Aran went upscale? Who, Yarrick's Company? The Silver Swords?"

"No. It's not your usual group of sellswords," Sime said calmly, savoring the shock she was about to give Mook. "This group is led by Order knights."

"Order knights?" Mook exclaimed, eyebrows shooting. "_Order knights_?" This time she hissed her question.

"Order knights." Sime replied, buffing her nails on her leathers.

"But… but Anarg and his people are dead. Those are the only Order knights that would work for us. And they weren't really Order knights anymore."

"True. In fact, your reinforcements are led by the woman who cut down Anarg and his gang."

Mook went silent for a moment, lost in thought. She blinked once, then twice and cocked her head to the side as if by shaking her head, she could get fit certain facts to fit into her head. Facts that were, rather understandably, refusing to cooperate. Sime sat in blissful silence, just watching, trying desperately not to giggle. The look on Mook's face was absolutely priceless, but to laugh now would ruin it.

After another moment, she blinked a third time and looked up at Sime incredulously. "You mean to tell me that… that…"

"Yes," Sime deadpanned, managing to stifle a gale of treacherous giggles by sheer force of will. "Your reinforcements are led by Aleria of Candlekeep, the Hero of Baldur's Gate."

Mook slowly shook her head. "Well I'll be damned. Aran, you beautiful bastard, you did it again." Looking up, she shook her head. "Well, I guess when you care to send the very best, you do. Do I want to even know how he got her to help us?"

"Long story. Wizards, lost siblings, the works."

"Figures."


	4. Chapter 4 Dockside Deliberations

Chapter 4 - The Docks (temporary title)

The afternoon passed quickly and pleasantly, as they prepared for the _Dawn Stealer's_ arrival. Sime worked and chatted with Mook as they reviewed the warehouse's security, with Mook implementing a few of Sime's suggestions about the roofline approaches. With security as tight as they could make it, the two settled into their respective chairs and talked about old times and new, with Mook very interested in her interview with Aran. Eventually, it came time for Sime to meet up with Aleria's company, so with a last hug and admonishment from Mook for her to behave, Sime left the warehouse for the _Sea's Bounty_.

The _Sea's Bounty_ was far from her favorite place. It wasn't that it was populated with hordes of sailors. Sailors for the most part didn't bother her. Most were funny or at least amusing, and few even managed to be cute in a nice weatherworn way. No, the problem with the _Sea's Bounty_ was that it was full of -drunk- sailors, a generally unpleasant bunch busy pouring gallons of cheap, foul ale down their throats while hunting for a likely doxy to toss a few coins for a quick lift of the skirts.

This meant, as she waited for Aleria and her compatriots to show up, she had to endure any number of propositions from the almost respectable to the disgustingly rude to the physically impossible. The propositions she could deal with. Raised in a harem and a guildhall gifted her with a razor sharp tongue which she used with reckless abandon. The problem was that the sailors didn't always stop with propositioning.

Now, the Thumb's bouncers were usually quick to act, especially when one of the Guild was present. But it was a bustling night and a few disputes already had them running ragged. So, Sime had to dissuade a few would be suitors directly. As Jocana told her, a man's most precious possession hung between his legs and was the key to ruling them. So, a little flashed steel aimed at the right place took care of those problems. Still, it was growing more and more frustrating to deal with.

That's why, when a hand came down on her shoulder, she spun around with a growl and a knife already in her hand. "No, I don't want to go upstairs with you or give you a good time and no, I don't want to help you lash the rudder, or run up the mainsail or whatever it is!"

"Understood," replied a woman's voice with just a hint of amusement. "Thankfully I do not need any assistance in nautical matters or… matters of another sort. Sime, I presume?"

The figure she turned to face was a woman from the voice, but the heavy cloak she was wrapped in kept her from telling any more. A set of green eyes calmly regarded her from beneath the shelter of a drawn up hood and a faint smile hung on her lips. The faint scar running bisecting the right eyebrow and cheek marked her as Aleria of Candlekeep. Reversing the knife and slipping it into her wrist bracer, she nodded. "You took your time."

"I was told evening. It is evening. We are here," Aleria said, nodding politely as the knife disappeared. "Shall we go? Or are you waiting for that special someone amongst all these fine ladies and gentlemen?"

She arched an eyebrow at the 'disguised' knight. Two other figures flanked her, a man and woman. The dark skin marked the man as Lord Corthala and the woman obviously had to be Jaheira. The rest must be outside. Getting up off her barstool, she shook her head. "No, I think the depths of this ocean have been plumbed. Shall we?"

"Certainly."

The taller woman fell into step with her as she led the way out into the night. Three of the others, dressed in similar heavy cloaks, were waiting by the street. They were trying to be inconspicuous, which only made them easier to spot. As they approached, a fourth stepped out of the shadows. She hadn't even spotted Yoshimo until he moved. The man was reputed to be skilled, and he certainly appeared to be as advertised.

"You know, those are some impressive disguises," Sime jibed.

"I am aware. But there was no way we could be inconspicuous. So, we figured that being obviously inconspicuous would be better than trying to sneak through this particular district."

"Not a bad plan," Sime admitted, cocking her head to study the redheaded knight. The woman definitely had a point. The Docks district had earned its reputation for nefarious characters, clandestine meetings and illicit dealings. It should, the Guild was headquartered there. However, because the district had that reputation, it was certainly not uncommon to see heavily cloaked individuals making their way through. People ignored them, assuming they were up to something and knowing getting involved usually ended badly.

Part of her was pleased that their new ally had the forethought to come up with such well chosen camouflage. Another part was less than thrilled. The idea that the shiny armor set might actually use tactics other than 'Charge!' and 'Smite!' made her a little uncomfortable. She liked it better with the Tinplates having the brawn and her having the brains.

"Most tactical manuals do include pages detailing more than the frontal assault," Aleria replied lightly as if she'd read her mind. A few chuckles sounded from behind them.

"Really? You seem to be the first knight who managed to get past that page," Sime retorted.

"Well, I will admit it is rather difficult to do," Aleria replied with a false sigh. "I feel it has something to do with all the heavy armor we wear," She tapped her head and winked. "Overheats the brain."

A guffaw, likely from Sir Keldorn, joined the chuckles. Mouth scrunched and eyebrow arched, she eyeballed the knight balefully. It was distinctly annoying when your opponent stole classic material like that. On the flip side, at least the woman had some sense of humor. She figured all that praying and armor beat that out of a person. Shrugging, she chuckled. "Well, you could try lighter armor you know. Lighter, more stylish."

"But how could we survive all our frontal assaults?" Aleria replied incredulously.

"It would predicate a change in general tactics," Jaheira chimed in.

"Ahh, but Lady Jaheira," Sir Keldorn replied with perfect courtly courtesy, "the Order has worked for centuries in designing the perfect charge. Whole libraries are dedicated to it. What would we do with those centuries of lore?"

"I'm sure a use could be found for it." Jaheira replied. "Archery butts perhaps?"

This time the laughter spread through the entire group and Sime found herself joining in. Looking over her shoulder, she could clearly see the strong camaraderie of this group. Shaking her head amusedly, she stole a few more glances at their leader and chuckled. Perhaps they were not as rigid and hidebound as she'd feared. This might just work.

"Tis a grand night for a stroll along the docks," called a voice from the darkness as they approached the warehouse. "Even if the night reeks of fish guts." The blade thin figure of Mook stepped out of the darkness, flanked by two of her people carrying hooded lanterns. Extending a hand, she grinned. "You must be Aleria o' Candlekeep."

Aleria recovered from the shock of seeing Mook suddenly appear from the gloom quickly and grasped the older woman's forearm. "I am. That would make you Mook, would it not?"

"That I am." She grinned. "If you don't me saying, bloody fine to have some backup. I've heard a fair bit about you. Made quite the impressive name for yourself as an adventurer. Hero of Baldur's Gate and all."

"I've never claimed such a title. I just try to do my best," Aleria smiled pleasantly and nodded. She had to be uncomfortable, but if she was, it didn't show on her face.

"Claim or no, it's stuck," Mook replied, shrugging her shoulders. "If you don't mind, aren't you a bit too much the hero to be guarding shipments for Aran?"

This time the façade cracked. Aleria's lips thinned slightly as she replied, "Linvail and I are trading services at the moment. That explains my presence in this operation."

Mook pursed her lips and nodded. "Fair enough. We're happy to have you, no matter what the reason."

"Indeed. Perhaps we should get to the details of the matter?"

"Definitely," Mook said, nodding to the door one of her men was holding open. "But, perhaps inside? Just in case there are prying ears to hear."

------

Mook's office may have been large, but with so many people inside it, it felt like the inside of a broom closet. She had to slide in next to Mook's left hip to get a place around the desk. Mook stood behind it while Lady Aleria and her companions ringed around it. Spread out over the battered surface was a scale representation of the warehouse with its accesses marked and their dock.

Mook, a wooden stylus in hand, was quickly going over the set defenses and the positions of her people. Aleria and the others were nodding along, absorbing the details. There were no frowns or scowls and she caught a look between Lady Aleria and Sir Keldorn that looked downright approving. Which was a good sign. While the Guild knew security, the Order, for all their reputation as a bunch of thoughtless knights, were a force to be reckoned with. If they approved, this might just work.

"So, Mook, just to be clear, your vessel will be docking at this pier and your people and the ship's crew will unload the supplies." The corners of Aleria's mouth quirked as if she'd bitten a lemon. "They'll bring them inside. How do they get moved to your guildhall?"

"You don't expect me to be giving up all the Guild's secrets to an Order knight, do ya?" Mook asked with a grin.

"No. I just ask to know if we must provide security _from_ the warehouse."

Mook grinned and waved dismissively. "Not a problem. Once we get it in the warehouse, we've got the route entirely controlled and secure. Blocked off some of the old sewer system. We just run them right into the guildhall, no need to ever sniff the streets."

Aleria, Keldorn and Jaheira exchanged a quick glance. Their shoulders all had tightened and frowns had replaced their neutral expressions. Jaheira arched an eyebrow at the two knights and Aleria nodded. The half elf leaned in a little closer, a few braids swinging lose. "So, what you are saying is that there is a direct route right into the heart of your stronghold right here inside this warehouse."

"Wouldn't be much good as a transship point if we gotta take everything street side. Some stuff's a little too… bulky to move that way."

"So, we've got a critical shipment coming here, one likely going through tonight in your tunnel system?" Aleria asked.

"Course. The 'supplies' are needed pretty badly," Mook said, a little tension showing in her voice.

Aleria rubbed her chin in obvious concern. "How secret is this tunnel?"

"It's not public knowledge, but my crew knows about it. Course, only a select few know _where_ it is. And what the passcodes are. And where the security is," Mook said, her hackles starting to rise.

"And a few of those people are missing," Sime said, a cold feeling settling in her stomach.

"What are you talking about?" Mook asked hurriedly.

"Jothan and Marta are both missing," Sime said quickly. "And enough people who at least know about the tunnel are as well."

"You don't think?" Mook asked, the color draining out of her face.

"It is what I would do, Madame Mook," Keldorn said grimly. "If this shipment was important, it is worth hitting. And if they are truly out to finish you, striking hard here could give them your own weapons to raid your base."

"And since your people would know that supplies are coming in, they won't be cautious about who's using that tunnel," Aleria added.

"They're always cautious!" Mook growled.

"But if they're expecting people coming through, they'll be less wary. If they hit you fast enough, you might not get a chance to get off a warning. Then they just come down your tunnel and hit your people from within," Aleria said calmly. "Tactical surprise. You might fight off the assault, but it will do damage."

"And make us look even weaker," Sime said hurriedly as took the calculations to their logical end. "In fact, they don't even need to do that much damage. If the Guildhall gets hit, confidence will take a hit. We'll start bleeding people to the other side if even our heart is vulnerable."

Mook slammed her fist into the table. "Cyric take em all for a bunch of bastards. We are going to get hit. Bloody glad we've got you with us, Aleria."

One of Mook's people, Denthik, stuck his head in. "'ey Mook? That guy, he came back 'gain. Thought ye'd want to know."

One fine red eyebrow arched upwards on Aleria's brow. "What man?"

"The situation is that we've seen the same man pass by four times," Mook cursed. "He looked a bit different each time but I knew it was the man. So, I set my boys to look and see if he came back."

Aleria grimaced. "Did you notice anything else odd about him? He could live here."

"No one we don't know lives here," Mook shook her head. "No. He was casing the area and studying me. Now that you're here to watch our backs, I should be able to learn something from him next time he passes. Maybe find out who is playing games with us."

"That sounds like a workable plan," Aleria said with a nod. "The more we know…"

"Yeah." Mook tightened her sword belt and grabbed her crossbow. "If this is the man we want, it shouldn't be too long until he shows up again." She flashed a wide, mirthless grin. Enough to make Sime shudder slightly. "Then we ask him a few questions."


	5. Chapter 5 Deadly Shadows

**Chapter 5**

_Deadly Shadows_

A final, frenetic round of preparations consumed the room and its occupants as Mook and Aleria hammered out a strategy to deal with their new nosy neighbor. Walking quickly alongside the taller, broader shouldered knight, Mook fired off orders for the lookouts to expect attack and be ready as they stepped into the increasingly foggy night. Aleria, still wrapped in her heavy cloak, accompanied Mook to the warehouse workyard's gate. Dago, the mountain of muscle who'd been Mook's chief bodyguard for forever shadowed Mook while Lord Derlyn and Jaheira fell into positions as if they were the knight's bodyguards. Lord Corthala and the Kozakuran rogue melted into the darkness to the flanks, leaving her standing next to Sir Keldorn and the fire haired mage Kelsey.

In the swirling torch and lantern light, she observed the confident set of Mook's shoulders and the almost lazy ease that Aleria and her companions held themselves and tried to emulate it. A trick that seemed made easier by the fact that all of them had actually fought battles before. Now it wasn't that she hadn't faced any danger. Her job meant that she often did, but the concept of an actual real battle instead of three seconds of fearful poking in an alley chilled her to the bone.

She tugged at the cuirass of her new armor and pulled out her hand crossbow. Fitting one of her new quarrels to the notch, she took a deep breath. Both Mook and Aleria were sure that battle was coming, so she needed to be ready. It wouldn't do for her to be caught flatfooted when she knew trouble was coming. Of course, that would be a lot easier if the swarm of butterflies swirling in her belly would leave her alone. Fidgeting with her weapon, she scanned the darkness, looking for the trouble she knew was coming.

"You have not seen much combat, have you Miss Sime?"

Sime spun to face the grey haired knight, a scathing retort ready. But the scorn she would have expected on one of her Guildmate's faces just wasn't there. There was interest in Sir Keldorn's eyes and he smiled slightly, but there was no mockery in his expression. Shrugging, she opted for the truth. "I've been in my fair share of scraps, but this kind of thing, no." She shrugged again. "Of course, in my line of work, if you're in some big pitched battle, you did something really, really wrong."

"Indeed," Sir Keldorn said with a dry chuckle. "And while you may find it hard to believe, the same can be said for those in my profession."

"That's a mirage if I've seen one," she replied with a laugh of her own. "You knight types are all about the armor and the combat training and the charging."

"We certainly train and train hard for the rigors of combat. There are times when the only course is the way of the sword, but it is certainly not the preferred option. No matter what the bards sing. Why win with the sword what you can win with words and reasoned arguments?"

"No argument here," she said, grinning. "Fighting is hot, sweaty, dangerous work. I for one prefer to avoid having people try to use me as a pincushion."

"That would definitely be a shame," the wizard added with a very friendly smile. "Luckily, you have us here."

Sir Keldorn's eyebrow arched slightly at Kelsey's words. "Indeed. Hopefully our presence will dissuade anyone from attacking. But if not, a few words of advice, if you do not mind, Miss Sime?"

"Just Sime, Sir Keldorn," she replied. "And sure."

"Sime," he said with a nod. "And Keldorn will be more then sufficient. If it does come to a fight, there are two things to remember. The first is to keep your wits about you. Fear is natural, it will keep you on your toes, but don't let it overwhelm you. Focus on your duties and your skills, they will allow you to channel the fear. Second, always fight to your strengths. In your case, you are not armored for going toe to toe with any of our foes, so use your mobility and speed to strike from the flanks."

"Keldorn, you are forgetting an important point," Kelsey interjected.

"And what would that be?" Keldorn asked patiently.

"Don't die. Kinda important."

Keldorn snorted. "Indeed."

She chuckled and shook her head at the grinning mage. "I'll keep that in mind. Don't die. I think I can handle that." She nodded at Keldorn. "And I'll keep your words in mind as well."

Keldorn's response was cut off by sudden movement a little in front of them. Dago stirred, jabbing a finger into the growing fog. Slipping closer, she heard him say in his deep rumble, "There, Mook. Our friend returns."

"Aleria, you keep watch. I'm going to go ask our friend some questions."

The tall knight nodded as Mook slipped forward, Dago moving like her shadow. Moving into the cover of one of the crates, she readied her crossbow and watched Mook approach the figure emerging from the mist. Mook swaggered over, one hand resting on the hilt of her blade.

"Hail there, friend!" Mook called out, her voice carrying that familiar edge that you really wanted to make sure you stayed in that 'friend' category. In complete defiance of the actual situation, she continued, "Fine night for a stroll, no?"

"Mook," the figure, heavily cloaked and carrying himself in a way of a man of medium build but excellent condition. "I've been looking for you."

Even as her hand tightened on her crossbow, she watched Mook take a careful clearing half step backwards. She could hear the warning in Mook's voice. "Who is it that speaks to me like an old acquaintance?"

"It is fitting, Mook, for I have been watching you," the man replied sibilantly.

"Have you now? What might your purpose be?"

"Truly, my beauty, it is time for you to leave this life," the man answered, stepping closer. "Guarding the spoils of another man's crime is no way for a woman to live."

"You're welcome to your opinion," Mook growled. "Perhaps I choose to stay right where I am."

"Choose not the difficult path, weak one," he warned. "You will come with me regardless."

Dago stepped forward, sword in hand. Suddenly, the man _moved_. It was the only word she had for it. He struck Dago and he went down, gurgling and clutching at his throat. Grinning in the torchlight, he lifted Dago clean up off the cobbles. "Expect no help from these dregs." He tossed Dago away as if he weighed nothing. "Their death as written in the stars shall be fulfilled tonight."

Frozen to the spot, she watched Dago, watched Dago's body, skid across the cobbles to thump against the crates across from her. Bile rising in the back of her throat, she stared at Dago and his blank eyes, the big man's throat torn right out. She would have kept staring if it wasn't for Mook shouting, "To arms! We're under attack! Aleria, to me!"

She snapped her head up as Aleria shouted, "Kelsey! Light!"

All around her the night exploded in storm of light and sound. Shouts and screams filled the air as night burst into midday. Armed men charged from both sides, screaming curses. Her people and Aleria's companions answered with shouts of their own. Bolts and arrows flew, one whistling right by her head and burying itself in a crate.

She jumped, staring at the quivering arrow. A few strands of hair dangled from the shaft, dark hair - her hair. Left hand flying to her temple, she whirled around, looking for the archer. A dark figure stood on the roof, a new arrow already fitted to the string. _But those are our people up there! But so many got so close… they took out all the roof guards!?_

Another arrow whizzed by her head, burying itself to the right of her head. Figuring out how he got there could wait. Swallowing hard, she brought her crossbow up and fired. Screaming shrilly, the archer dropped his bow as her bolt struck home. She cringed as he clutched his hands to his groin and tumbled off the roof. She'd meant to hit him the chest, but her aim had been a bit off, she didn't compensate enough for the elevation. Still worked though.

Desperately reloading, she shouted, "The roof! The roof! They've taken out our roof guards!"

"We're on it," Lord Corthala shouted, his twin blades flashing in the artificial light. Yoshimo, with me!'

"As the Swift Death commands," Yoshimo shouted, katana in one hand as he bounded up crates.

Ratcheting a fresh shocking quarrel into her crossbow, she took cover behind a fresh group of crates, slipping in next to the mage. All around her, battle swirled. Keldorn traded blows with two toughs in chain mail, a third at his feet. Jaheira, Yeslin and Kord held the right side, fighting against twice their number. Lord Anomen was bellowing and battling an unarmed woman. His glowing flail left flaming trails of sparks as he lashed out at the scantly clad woman, but his blows missed. Aleria and Mook were fighting back to back, Mook's blade looking almost insubstantial compared to the glowing bar of flame that the tall knight wielded.

Aleria was locked in battle with the grey skinned man, the fully armored knight against a man whose clothing seemed more suited to the harem than the battlefield. Hypnotically, the two obvious masters faced off, the pale man's movements a twisted mirror of the knight's grace. They danced an intricate and mesmerizing two step, her blade flaring like lightening against the dark steel of his sword and her armor flowing like a sheath of living fire she exchanged blows with the man. Neither could gain the advantage, the grey man unable to make her budge but the knight unable to drive him back.

A scream to her right tore her eyes away from their dance to the battle swirling around her. To her left, she saw a man trying to flank Mook. Drawing a bead, she loosed a quarrel at the man, catching him in the shoulder. Reloading, she shouted, "Kelsey, what in the blazes is going on?"

"Waukeen knows!" Kelsey shouted. "Sime, behind you!"

Sime spun, bringing up her crossbow as a man with a wicked looking scimitar bore down on them. Trying to sight in, she gasped as a stream of fire lanced out and caught him in the chest. His warcry turned into a scream of pain as his gambeson caught fire. He managed a few more steps until the jet slid up to his face, his hair bursting into flame. Her stomach churned as the man screamed shrilly and dropped to his knees. Swallowing her gorge, she loosed her quarrel into the man's chest.

He finally, mercifully, stopped screaming as his still burning body thudded bonelessly to the ground. Fingers numb with shock, she felt for another quarrel while staring at the robed mage. She'd seen magic, but nothing … nothing like that. And she hoped to never see it again.

Kelsey, for his part, grimaced apologetically when he noticed her stare. She nodded back. As horrible as that was, fights were nasty, bloody and brutal. Better the other guy ended up a charred lump than spending the rest of the evening trying to put her insides back in.

Turning her attention back to the battle swirling around her to avoid just that fate, she grimaced. Things were not going well. Kord was down, his body slumped against a broken crate. Yeslin and Jaheira were being driven back and Keldorn too was giving ground, both being pushed inwards. The Lord Anomen still battled the grey skinned woman, both figures looking worse for wear, blood covering his shield arm and deep burns covering the woman's now bare chest.

Worst was that Mook and Lady Aleria were being cut off from the others. She heard the others calling out to them, but all were hard pressed. Mook now was fighting desperately against three thugs while Aleria now faced a second beside the grey skinned man.

It was obvious they were trying to not just separate them from support but from each other. Just like a pack of dogs. She tried to aim at one of their attackers, but she couldn't be sure of her shot. She couldn't risk hitting Mook.

Something had to do be done. Someone had to do –something.- And no one was left.

Holstering her hand crossbow, she drew her short sword. Jaw tight, she said, "I'm going to go do something really stupid, Kelsey. Watch my back, would you?"

"I'll do more than watch your back, Sime."

"I didn't mean stare at my ass."

"Neither did I," the redhead laughed and flung out his left hand. A stream of pink bolts flew from his hand at one of the warriors. The pink darts slammed into his chest and face and the swordsman went down in a heap. "But it's a nice one, so don't get it cut up, would you?"

"Um… yeah," she said, still a little shocked at the sheer power of the mage.

Taking a deep breath, her hand tight on her sword, she burst from cover, running low along the crates. No need to advertise her presence and invite someone trying to stick her with a pointy bit. That was her plan.

Rounding a crate, she took a moment to evaluate the situation. You didn't live long just running forward like some armor plated or leather underpants wearing muscle brain. Eyes narrowed, she picked her target, the wide back of a shaggy haired man in a rough spun shirt who was hacking at Mook with an oversized axe. He looked like the perfect target, big and slow. With all sorts of back to drive the point into.

Nodding, she flashed forward, sword ready to strike. She closed the open space quickly and the big thug didn't even twitch at her approach. Too busy trying to chop up Mook to watch his back. Fool. A small smile on her face, she reared back and lunged forward, aiming the point for the kidneys just like she'd been taught.

Her arm drove forward in one smooth, fluid movement. Her aim was true.

Time slowed. The man, at the last moment realized some sort of danger. He straightened reflexively, only making her work easier. The light and fire glinted off her blade as it drove home.

Cloth parted like it was air.

And then with an ankle twisting wrench, her blade and arm slid to the right. Unbalanced, her boot slipped on the slick cobbles, she stumbled forward, her blade instead of driving through flesh skittered across metal. Rough spun wool gave way to reveal gleaming chain.

She'd made the cardinal sin, overcommitted. Desperately, she scrambled to regain her footing on blood-slicked cobbles as the huge man whirled on her. Eyes gleaming through heavy, greenish brows, he hefted that huge axe and laughed unpleasantly. "Nice try little girl, but Garras has tough skin. Little girl doesn't. Good bye, little girl!"

Mesmerized, she watched the axe blade hurtle downwards. She tried to bring her sword up to block the blow, but even as her muscles moved to do so, she knew it wouldn't be enough. She just wasn't strong enough.

The edge arced towards her, heading right for her head. As she watched it, all she could think about was how this was a decidedly stupid way to die.

A flash of silver streaked out over her head and caught the axe. The edge turned away and reflexes kicked in, throwing her to the other side without even thinking about it. A second blade leapt out, catching Garras across the stomach. While his 'hard skin' had turned aside her strike, he wasn't so lucky this time. Red sprayed from his stomach and the half orc screamed in pain.

Not for long.

The first blade slashed out again, catching the half orc tough across the throat and sending his decidedly ugly head arcing off.

Picking herself up, she watched the Lord Corthala flick the blood from his katanas as Garras's headless body crashed to the cobbles.

She'd never seen him. Or heard him. She'd like to think that's because she'd been so focused on her target, but a nagging sensation told her that wasn't case. Grimacing, she said, "Thank… thank you. I thought I was dead for certain."

He nodded slightly in acknowledgement. "You're welcome."

"The roof?"

"Taken care of."

The dark skinned man really was economical with his words. Swallowing and thankful that it was dark enough to hide any blushing, she nodded forward. "We should help Mook and Aleria."

"Indeed. Follow me, and watch your footing. Enough blood makes cobbles slippery."

"Right. Kinda new at this."

"Watch your footing and you will have a chance to change that."

"You know, I'd rather avoid this sort of thing altogether. But I'm getting the feeling I better learn quick." She shifted her grip on her short sword.

"A good idea."

With a nod, the dark skinned noble leapt to the fray, charging the woman trying to flank Aleria. Swallowing hard, she followed suit, going after a tall man hammering at Mook's flank.

Mook needed her help and she couldn't let her down.


	6. Chapter 6 Darkness and Light

Chapter 6

Dances with Devils

The fight swirled like a sandstorm, whipping all around her in some mad dance she couldn't begin to fathom. Her ears rang from the clash of steel and from the screams. More thugs hurtled in from the dark maze of the docks, screaming with weapons raised. Some slammed into the flanks, but most hurled themselves into that central battle, trying to overwhelm and overbear Mook, Aleria and now the Lord Corthala. Bolts of light and fire flashed around and men fell. It seemed as if the very hells had burst free through the streets and now threatened to swallow her in their flames.

Yet somehow, in all this madness, she found herself an island. No one seemed interested in one little woman with a short sword. Her instincts screamed at her to take this chance, to find a nice safe place to and wait for all this to be over. Let those who were good at fighting fight, while those smarter that that could be someplace nice and safe and in one piece.

But she couldn't. She couldn't leave Mook alone, she couldn't let anything happen to Mook, not when there's something she could do to help. So, swallowing hard and hand tight around her short sword, she threw herself into the maelstrom.

Ducking a wild backswing, she slipped inside the guard of one long haired and putrid smelling man in leather. The smell really shocked her, not how bad it was, because she'd smelt worse, but because she noticed it. She just didn't expect that, she figured she'd be too busy to notice that while fighting for her life. And yet she did.

A line of fire burst along her left arm. Screaming, she looked down to see a gash in armor and blood, _- blood -_ flowing down her arm. Blinking, she turned her shoulder to get a closer look at her arm. She really had been cut. The cut was deep too.

Sensing more than seeing the incoming blade, she twisted out of the way, the blade slicing past her back. Looking up, she found herself face to face with a snarling half elf with a wicked looking scimitar. He growled and swung again, and Sime just managed to get her sword up to block the swing. Sparks flew and a jolt raced down her arm from the impact.

Grimacing, she danced to the left to avoid a wide overhand swing. The follow-through carried the half elf far forward, exposing his side. Gritting her teeth despite the jangles still running through her arm, she lunged forward with the point extended.

The point found a seam in the man's armor and slid in like a knife through silk. A gush of blood, hot and sticky, spilled over the hilt onto her hand as the half elf turned his head to look at her. Eyes wide with shock and mouth gaping, he lifted his sword to strike. She tugged hard on the blade, but the wound seemed to have closed over the steel like a vice. Unable to free it, she twisted it with all her might.

A soft, strangled cough escaped his lips and his sword arm trembled as her blade pulled free with a sickening, sucking sound. Light blue eyes fixed on hers, still wide with shock. His sword tumbled from his hand and he coughed again, a trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth. Then, without a further sound, he collapsed to the cobbles.

A coldness flooded through her stomach as the half elf collapsed lifeless to the ground. It chilled her to the core, an ice colder than a desert night filling her veins. She'd heard some of the others talk about the heat of battle, but there was no heat here. It was the same coldness that a deadly scuffle in an alley provoked, the same sickening smell of blood and fear. Charging into this had been insane.

Senses more aware than her brain, she spun, blade slashing out. Steel met steel and a very familiar voice cried out, "Sime, lass! It's me, Mook!"

Sime blinked, her mind catching up to her reflexes. It was Mook. Her face was blood-spattered and hair a sweaty mess, but it was her. Thank the gods. "Mook! You alright?"

"So far," she said with a small grin. "Now just try to avoid poking holes in me, okay?"

"Gotcha," she said cringing.

"No worries. First battles are always crazy. This one especially. The arm okay?" she asked, sparing her a glance and repositioning herself to meet any charges.

"A little too slow," she said, flexing her wounded arm. "But I'll live."

"My little one, surviving battle is what it's all about. Glory's for the others. Just make it through."

"That's my plan, Mook," she said, grinning back before making a defensive half turn.

"Mine too. And it should work, because it looks like we're going to win this one!"

Sime gave the battlefield a once over. A couple of fires burned merrily, likely from that wizard's magic, but it looked like the attackers were being pushed back. Jaheira was leading one countercharge while the Lord Anomen seemed to have driven off the harridan trying to kill him. Mook might just be right. "You're right Mook! We're winning! We're going to hold the warehouse!"

Mook clapped Sime on the back. "Not a bad way to finish off your first battle, eh Sime? A victory."

"Perhaps a victory, but one you will not live to savor, Mook," a low voice hissed from behind them. Both spun on their heels to face the same grey faced man who started the whole fracas. Somehow he'd managed to sneak up on both of them, a seeming impossible task except he'd managed it. He smiled, showing long fangs. "Your pet knights might have saved your warehouse, but it was not the only target. You are the Shadowmaster's strong right arm. We mean to deprive him of it."

"Hell you are!" Mook shouted, slashing at him with her sword.

The man ducked the blade and grabbed her wrist. Mook screamed as he twisted his hand, bending her wrist back and spilling her sword to the ground. "Now, don't struggle, it will only prolong the suffering."

"Mook!" Sime screamed, lunging forward. Her strike was crude, and the grey faced man easily avoided it.

"Foolish child," he hissed, and then almost negligently, backhanded her across the face.

The blow lifted her off her feet and sent her crashing to the pavement. Her sword clattered to the cobbles and her head spun from the sheet power of it. Blinking hard through the stars, she watched helplessly as the grey man twisted Mook's arm cruelly, bending her over. Mook yelped and her knees buckled.

"Ahh, Mook, it is unfortunate you are so loyal. My mistress prizes talent, and wished to have you come to us willingly. No matter, you will still serve."

"Hells I will, you bastard," she cursed, kicking at him, still fighting.

Sime's head started to clear and she managed to meet Mook's eyes. Pain flared through them, but they also begged her to run. To leave her.

"Oh, but you will, my sweet Mook," the grey man hissed. He reached down and grabbed the collar of Mook's armor and seemingly effortlessly ripped the leather open. Grabbing the loose leather, he hauled her upright. "You will. But only as a slave. A pity, but acceptable."

Turning away from Sime, he bit her, fangs closing over her neck. A scream filled the air, but Sime would never be sure it if was Mook's or hers. Or both.

Something inside Sime snapped. Mook was the closest thing she had to family, and by the gods, she wasn't going to let that bastard hurt her. Gathering up both sword and courage, she picked herself up and charged at the grey man's back.

Her sword sunk deep in the man's back as she threw all her might into the strike. The man straightened reflexively and he reached back clutching at the blade stuck in his back. He let Mook tumble to the ground and cursed. Twisting the blade, Sime snarled, "Die you bastard!!!"

The grey man spun amazingly fast, yanking the hilt out of Sime's hand. His eyes burning brightly, he reached behind him and pulled the sword out. He hefted the sword and laughed. "I already have. And a toy like this is certainly not going to stop me."

He tossed the unstained blade at her feet and laughed again. Sime stared at the blade in utter shock, floored that it had done nothing. A hand grabbed her chin, hauling her head up to face the cold grey man. His bright burning eyes drew her in, sucked her in, sapped her of her strength. She simply stood, rooted to the spot as his hand, his icy cold hand, wrapped around her throat.

Pulling her close, she looked into his terrifyingly handsome face. He laughed, bathing her in the coppery smell of Mook's blood. "But, my pretty little thing, that doesn't mean you are forgiven. I had meant to take one slave, but why not two? Especially one as pretty as you. And I will take my time teaching you the folly of striking me with such a paltry weapon."

"Then let us try this one, fiend!" another voice shouted.

There was a terrific flash of searing white gold, blinding her. The pressure around her mind and her throat slackened, and she collapsed to her knees, gasping. A thin, high keen filled the air, piercing deep into her skull, forcing her to clasp her hands to her ears in a futile attempt to block it out. The scream tore through her body, threatening to take her under.

As quickly as it started, it was gone.

Breathing hard, she looked up. A glowing figure clad in red knelt before her. Silvery light played across her form, caressing every inch of her with gentle divine fire. A bar of solid flame burned in one hand while the other hand closed over her shoulder. The hand was as warm as the grey man's had been cold, and a tremendous, delicious warmth spread through her. She focused on the vision's face, dominated by twin glowing emeralds. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, an angel descended to the earth.

She swallowed hard and screwed her eyes shut, trying to blot out the golden flames. After a moment, the light faded, and she slowly opened her eyes again. The golden flamed wreathed angel was gone, replaced by something far more human. A weary, sweat stained face stared at her from under a red and gold helmet. Bright green eyes studied hers and a hand shook her. "Sime? Sime, are you alright?"

"Lady Aleria?" she asked, mind swimming. Flames danced behind the knight, backlighting her bright light against the dark. Her massive, silver sword gleamed in the firelight. Visions began to make sense.

"Yes Sime."

"The … man?

"The vampire found my blade less than to his liking. Thankfully, he decided to gloat long enough for me to get here. Are you alright? He did not bite you?"

Sime clutched at her throat. "No… no," she said softly. "But he would have. I couldn't fight…"

The hand tightened on her shoulder. "One of the vampire's power is to mesmerize to make it easier to take their victim."

The word victim rang with the deafening cacophony of her homeland's tower bells in her head. "Mook? Mook! He bit Mook!"

She twisted out of the knight's grip and scrabbled across the pavement to where Mook had fallen. Her face was grey and ashen, her lips near purple. A spider's web of black veins spread from the ugly red wound on her throat. Despite the ghastly wound, only a slight trickle of blood oozed from it with each rasping breath. "Mook!" she screamed, wrapping her arms around her chill form.

With the soft scraping of her armor on the rough cobbles, Aleria knelt next to her. "I will do what I can…" she said, a tremor in her voice betraying a worrying lack of confidence.

"Please! Please! You have to!" she cried, clutching to Mook like a lifeline.

Aleria nodded and reached out; gently pressing her hands to Mook's wounded neck. She began to chant in a low, soft tongue, her eyes closing. Clutching Mook's tightly, she watched lines of strain crease her face, highlighting the hollows under her eyes and a usually near invisible long, shallow scar on her cheek. As she prayed, the knight looked decades older, careworn and tired, but also so very vital and alive. She couldn't understand it, and before she could think more on it, the chant reached its crescendo.

She'd seen healing before, but not like this. A soft blue glow spread from Aleria's hands into Mook's body. It coursed over Mook's skin like living fire, setting her own skin tingling as it flowed around her arms. The fire chased the black veins down her face and neck and color blossomed on Mook's cheeks. Her body stiffened and her eyes snapped open, their piercing blue now masked with a thick, milky veil. She gasped wordlessly before slumping back into Sime's arms.

Aleria's bowed head raised slowly. The green fire behind her eyes was banked, and she sighed softly. "I am sorry Sime. This wound… this wound is beyond the powers gifted to me."

"That can't be!" she cursed, sobbing. "You have to do something! That's what you do!" The black lines were quickly spreading again. Her whole left cheek was covered with the veins and color drained from her face. Her eyes opened and seemed to fix on hers even as her breathing slowed. Reaching out, she gently stroked Mook's dirty, sweaty hair. "You're supposed to be some sort of hero... you're supposed to help. And you can't..." She looked up and glared at Aleria, eyes stinging from the tears. "And since you're no good, since you're useless... you can at least leave us alone."

"I am sorry Sime, if it were within my power..." Aleria's voice trailed off.

"I get it. You're sorry," she hissed, her voice cracking. "Now leave us be. Leave us in peace."

"It is not within my power... but perhaps..." A hand closed over Sime's shoulder. "Anomen! Anomen! I need you!"

The ring of mailed boots hurrying over cobbles filled her ears as she looked up at Aleria, hope starting to flood back. The knight had an idea. Aleria had an idea.

"Hang on Mook, please," she whispered. "Help is coming."

A metallic crunch signaled the arrival of Sir Delryn, as he knelt down beside them. "Yes, my Lady?" he asked, still sounding deferential and proper despite the exhaustion evident from his heavy breathing.

"Anomen," Aleria said quickly. "Has Helm granted with you any prayers of restoration today?"

Sir Delryn nodded quickly, leaning in towards Aleria. "The Watcher has so gifted me. Did one of those foul creatures bite you?"

"Nothing more than a few scratches, Anomen. I am well. It is Mook, she was bitten. I tried to stop the spread of their cancer, but I have not the grace. You do."

"For Mook, my Lady?" he sputtered. "This is no mean prayer to dole out for thieves and brigands."

No different. No different at all. They might wear fancy metal armor and prance around in parades, do things for 'honor' and 'glory' instead of just good business, but they weren't an ounce different than any of her guildmates. Unless there was something in it for them, most would walk right past you in the gutter. Some probably would make sure you didn't get up. Even through blurry eyes, she could see on _Sir_ Delryn's face that same thought. Same sentiment.

But she still had to try. Maybe there was something she could offer, something he'd want that she could trade for Mook. She had to try.

Swallowing hard, one arm tight around Mook's body, she reached out for Sir Delryn's hand. To his credit, he didn't pull back, lurch away like she was some sort of leper. But he still looked discomfited. Sniffling just once, she fell back on the training of her youth. "Please," she pleaded. "Please, if you can help her, please do. She's... she's all I have in this world. And if you help her, if you help her all I have is yours. Name it, whatever it is, _please_[/i] just help her."

Sir Delryn looked up and looked at her, and that hard sneer cracked. His lips drew back and his shoulders tensed. She could see the indecision in his face as he looked from her to Mook to Aleria.

"Please Anomen, help her. Undeath is no fate for anyone, no matter what their sins."

"Please. Please," she begged, feeling the warmth steal out of Mook. Her eyes stung as tears started to roll down her cheeks. She didn't care. She was losing her. She couldn't lose her. So what if he saw her cry. Stroking her cheek, she looked away from the knight and into Mook's graying face. "She's getting cold. Oh gods, please."

She heard Sir Delryn sigh heavily. "I... I will help her if the Watcher will so allow."

Her head snapped up, staring incredulously at the Helmite. He said he would help. Mook, Mook might make it! "Thank you! Thank you!" she gasped.

"Do not thank me yet, Sime. But I will make the attempt. Please, lay her flat on the ground so that I may work."

Gently she laid Mook down on the hard cobbles, folding Mook's hands over her chest before moving back to give the Helmite priest room. Sir Delryn moved to Mook's right side, removing his helm and setting it down across from him. His hair was matted and blood and sweat mingled on his left cheek where something had struck him. He twisted his neck back and forth and slipped his left hand out of his gauntlet to smooth back his hair. As he bowed his head, that hard, sneering mask he wore like armor softened, exhaustion and something else shining through. Taking a deep, slow breath, he swallowed hard and laid his gauntleted hands, one atop the other in the center of Mook's chest.

He began to chant, low and rhythmic. His voice, denuded of the harshness and disdain that colored it, was melodic. He either had formal training, which seemed odd for the joyless Helmites or he had a natural singing gift. Accompanied by the right instrument, it would be beautiful. An odd thought for the moment, but true, even as his chant quickened.

His brow knitted and sweat beaded on his skin. Jaw tightening and shoulders stiffening, he chanted faster and louder. The sweat began to pour down his face, dripping off his nose and beard as he leaned in further and closer. A gold white flare of light burst from his gauntleted hands, swallowing both Sir Delryn and Mook in its corona. Sime fell back and covered her eyes, the light blinding, piercing. It was like ten thousand eyes staring at her at once, peering through every ounce of her being.

And as quickly as it came, it was gone.

Sir Delryn rocked back onto his heels, breathing hard. He reached out to steady himself, swaying drunkenly, but before he could fall, Aleria caught him and steadied him. Still feeling the shock of that light, Sime was silent as Aleria asked, "Was your prayer granted?"

"Yes," Sir Delryn replied breathlessly. "The Watcher granted the favor. She will heal, but she will be weak for some time." Chest heaving, he turned towards Sime woozily. "She will need bed rest and nourishing food. The flesh nearly failed and will need help in recovering."

"As will you my friend," Aleria said, wrapping her arms around the Helmite's chest and helping him to his feet. "Keldorn! I need your assistance here!" she shouted over her shoulder as she propped him up.

"You will take care of her?" Aleria asked.

"Yes! Thank you! Thank you so much, both of you!" she gushed, rushing to Mook's side. The paleness in her face was gone, the black veins retreated. She wrapped her arms around Mook, hugging her tightly, tears flowing freely down her cheeks.

She heard both Aleria and Sir Delryn say something, but her attention was only on Mook. Mook was going to live. Mook was going to make it.

"Oof. Lass, you're squeezing the life out of me," A very familiar if painfully soft voice said.

She loosened her grip around her Mook. "Sorry... sorry about that, Mook." She kissed her forehead, tears dripping down on her.

"Now I know how the coffee pot feels when I scour it with my copper brush," she moaned softly. She tried to sit up, but slumped back into Sime's lap. "What in the Nine Hells just happened?"

"You just had your life saved by a Helmite priest."

"You mean that arrogant pimple of a man? The one whose codpiece is three sizes too small?"

"Aye," she said, grinning and sniffling. "You owe him... I owe him a great debt for bringing you back to me."

"Vampires, heroes and being saved by Helmites," Mook said, shaking her head softly.

"Aye."

"Way too old for this."


	7. Chapter 7 Further Instructions

**Chapter 7**

**Further Instructions  
**

Curled up in a ball in one of Mook's overstuffed chairs with a blanket wrapped around her, she watched the gentle rise and fall of Mook's chest as she slept. She'd kept vigil over her since the Guild healers brought her back to her suite of rooms. She said it was to protect her, but really the remaining members of Mook's crew had that handled, guarding her suite of rooms with complete and deadly seriousness.

She said that, but she knew why she was doing it. She needed to be by Mook and make sure she was going to be okay. After nearly losing her, seeing her on the brink of something… something even worse than death, she needed to be there when she woke up. She needed that security, she needed her Mook because things had gotten too crazy. Magic, swords, vampires and all that blood last night, maybe that was usual for some people, but not for her.

She needed Mook, but Mook was still asleep, still recovering. The older woman's face was still haggard and pale but at least the black veins and pain from last night were gone. But she was alive, thank all the gods. She was going to get better, a gift she owed to two Order knights, to Aleria of Candlekeep and even more so, Anomen Delryn.

It felt strange to be in their debt, for a woman like herself to be beholden to a bunch of Order knights of all people. But she did owe them, that was for certain. They saved Mook when they had no reason to. Smiling softly at Mook and resting her chin on her hand, she wrestled with that concept. Maybe there had been more calculation in saving Mook, she was high in the organization, they needed to work with them, and any such good will would certainly help. The thing is, that isn't the reason they did it. She was honest enough to admit it, because an analyst who didn't wasn't much good. They did it because they believed they should.

Well, at least Aleria had. She could have left her there, done nothing or offered some platitudes. But she helped when she didn't need to. She helped a woman who might have been or could still be an enemy. And while she understood it, she didn't. Didn't exactly seem right.

At least Delryn made more sense. He would have been happy to stay in his 'Bastion of Righteousness' or whatever he called his happy place. He traded his power for a reward. For Aleria's approval and for her own… rather rash promises. Scratching the back of her head, she grimaced. She'd been desperate and promised the world. Now she had to deliver. She wondered what he'd demand in payment.

If he was anything more like his father than he seemed, it might not be too pleasant. But in all honesty, a few hours of unpleasantness was worth Mook's life. Maybe it was sentimental and sappy, but she loved Mook. She took care of her when she was little, protected her. How could she do less?

A loud and insistent knock at the door thankfully cut off that line of thought. Uncurling from her chair, she tossed off the blanket and wrapped her hand around her crossbow's handle. Readying it but not raising it, she shifted to the partial cover of the overstuffed chair and called out somewhat crankily, "Hey! Mook's not supposed to be disturbed."

The door opened and Isin, one of Mook's most trusted lieutenants, stuck his head in. "I know. But the Shadowmaster's here."

"Oh," Sime gasped, uncocking the hand crossbow and slipping it back into its holster. She straightened and smoothed down the front of her armor. She pushed her hair back, the usually fragrant, free-flowing tresses now a sooty, smelly mess. She hadn't had a chance to bathe since the battle and now with the Shadowmaster about to walk in, she seriously regretted it. Tying the mass back, she wiped at her face to try and make herself look mildly presentable. With more confidence than she felt, she said, "Well, of course, we shouldn't keep the Shadowmaster waiting."

Isin nodded and opened the door, allowing Aran Linvail, the Shadowmaster, to step into the room. As per his reputation, the man was impeccably dressed, from his soft velvet vest to the spotless suede boots to elegant black belt with the equally elegant sword hanging from it. As he turned his head and nodded in greeting, Sime found herself growing even more self conscious. Those boots clashed with hers, still stained with muck and blood and his perfectly coiffed hair stood in stark contrast to the sweat-stained mess atop her head. She was honest enough to admit her vanity, and coming up against the Shadowmaster looking more like one of the street cutpurses than a top intelligence agent turned in her stomach like a hot blade.

The Shadowmaster nodded in greeting. "Good morning Sime."

"Good morning Shadowmaster," Sime replied as brightly as she could.

His head tilted slightly to the side as his eyes wandered to the bed and its sleeping occupant. "She is resting and will make a full recovery?"

"Yes sir." Sime said straightening and studying the Shadowmaster's face. There was the slightest hint of softness around the eyes, of sadness? Did they have something? Had there been something? Mook always seemed rather familiar in referring to the Shadowmaster, but she'd assumed it was the intimacy of the seniority, not intimacy of another sort. She'd have to try and pry that out of Mook, but it wouldn't be easy for she was notoriously tight lipped about her past. "The healers say she'll be weak for a while but will make a full recovery in a few days."

"Excellent. Mook is too valuable to our operations to lose," The Shadowmaster said, a hardness in his voice betraying the intensity of his feelings. Interesting. As she filed that tidbit away, the Shadowmaster ran his pale blue eyes up and down her form. "A rough night, I see."

"Yes sir. We were attacked by a large force, including..." She straightened a little further, the insanity of the situation causing her to tense. "Vampires, sir. If you hadn't secured Aleria and her compatriot's aid..."

"Mook and her people would be dead, the warehouse taken and the core of our dock operations assaulted," the Shadowmaster finished, turning his attention back to Sime.

"More than likely, sir."

"Thankfully, that did not happen. I prefer to not spend my evenings fighting off mercenaries and the undead. It's very tiring." The Shadowmaster smiled thinly at his own joke. "Instead, thanks to Aleria's company, Mook's people and your own efforts, not only did that not happen but the shipment made it in safely."

"Thank you sir," Sime replied.

"I understand that Mook was wounded in the affray, but Aleria and her companions did not further elaborate on the cause or nature of her wounds. None of her remaining people could provide much detail either. I was hoping perhaps you could provide further detail?"

There was nothing about that question that was a request. That was a very polite demand for information, she could see it in his eyes, a tightening around them and a subtle hardening of their icy blue depths. But far more interesting was the fact that Aleria and her company _hadn't_ mentioned how far they'd gone to save Mook. They'd passed up an excellent change to curry favor and work the relationship, especially considering the newly discovered depth of the attachment between Aran Linvail and Mook.

Still, the request had been made, and so she needed to fill it. The question was to what extent. He could be testing her, seeing if she would fully disclose what she knew. Better to err on the side of full disclosure as there was little reason to _not_ do so. Tugging at the hem of her cuirass, she nodded in the affirmative. "One of the leaders of the assault attacked Mook. He bit her and did... something to her. I do not know what, but apparently there is something to the danger of vampire bites. Before it could finish, Lady Aleria cut the thing down. She was weakened... dying." She heard her voice quiver as the memories came flooding back. Mook, so cold, so weak. The black veins and the white eyes. "She and Sir Anomen saved her."

"How?"

"I..." She grimaced. "I am not entirely sure. Apparently it involved divine power from their respective gods, but I am no practical theologian, sir."

He pursed his lips and nodded. "Likely a Restoration prayer of some sort. Delryn must be held in some respect by Helm." He smiled. "Somehow, this does not surprise me. Helmites long ago cornered the market on humorless and Cor's son seems the perfect model." He studied her for a moment, his eyes searching hers. "It is interesting that they did so, your thoughts on why?"

She knew she would have to field this question as soon as she told him the truth. However, she didn't much relish giving the answer. Obligation was something she hated, having others know it even more so. Especially when such an obligation could imply weakness or vulnerability. "Because sir, I asked them to."

"I see. At what cost?"

"The cost will be borne entirely by myself sir. The Guild has no liabilities or concerns in it."

"As the Guildmaster," he said very precisely, his face stern. "I make those determinations. Especially when the agent in question works as closely with me as you do."

She swallowed hard. "The obligation is entirely … _personal_, sir."

One well sculpted eyebrow arched marginally and the sternness modulating slightly. "I see. I would suggest discharging any such _personal_ obligations quickly. I do not want them interfering with our operations, Sime."

"Of course, sir," she said with a hurried nod.

"And speaking of interference with our operations, I do not like having to come to one of my agents to get a report. Especially _after_ having dealt with the party in question. Knowing what they did could have been very valuable, but I was deprived of this information."

She blanched and swallowed hard as the Shadowmaster pinned to her the spot with his eyes. "In fact, I find this failure rather galling, Sime. Darkshadow promised me great things from you, even if you were rather young and inexperienced."

"I … I am sorry sir. It's just Mook … Mook, you see, she was hurt. I had to watch over her, make sure she was okay," she stammered, the words pouring out of her like a broken cistern. "I... needed to make sure she was okay..."

The Shadowmaster held up a hand and her jaw snapped shut with a click. "I understand that Sime. I know how close you are to Mook, which is why I will make an exception _this_ time."

She flushed brightly, anger and embarrassment warring in her. "I understand, sir."

"Good," he said with a nod. "We must all work to husband the Guild through such difficult times. Even more so than usual, we must remember that personal is not the same as important."

The rebuke stung, but not as much as the look on his face as he said it. The mask slipped just enough to see how much he believed it. And that knowledge chilled her to the core. Nodding quickly and emphatically, she managed. "I'll … I'll remember that Shadowmaster."

"It is Aran, Sime. We are colleagues." The genteel smile had returned. "Now, I believe Darkshadow has need of you. Meet him in his office. And you need not worry about Mook, I will keep watch over her."

"Than.. thank you, sir."

"I would suggest a bath as well, before meeting with him. You know how fastidious he is."

"Of course."

"Good." He smiled and nodded in dismissal.

Without a further word, she headed for the door. As she pulled it open, she watched the Shadowmaster settle himself into one of the other chairs of the room. With the Shadowmaster watching over Mook, she'd be safe.

The question was, was she?

------

Detouring to her apartment to quickly scrub her face and for fresher clothes and a quickly snatched loaf of sesame bread, she wound her way to Darkshadow's office. She always wondered if he'd gotten his moniker from skulking in the shadows as a career choice or his near passionate distaste for sunlight or perhaps some youthful indiscretion that just stuck. No one seemed to know, mainly because her boss wasn't really one for personal chit chat or coffee klatches. Which ever one did drive the name, she thought as she descended the third set of stairs deeper underground, his office certainly fit.

While the Shadowmaster's office was wide and well appointed, designed to demonstrate power and opulence, the Guild's chief spy's office reflected an entirely different aesthetic. Buried even further underground, one had to traverse a maze of oppressively tight corridors, windy stairs and past heavy security doors before even reaching it. The office itself was small and tight, dominated by the locked bookcases looming along the walls and the neatly stacked desk in its center.

In fact, the furniture struck a more dramatic pose than its occupant. Rhuar Darkshadow was a thin, unremarkable man with tightly clipped sandy brown hair and a soft mouth and gray eyes. He always wore simple clothes, today favoring one of his seemingly endless collection of gray tunics. To all appearances he was no more dangerous than a dockside accountant.

Pity the fool that made that mistake. They didn't often make it twice, on account of catching a serious case of dead.

He had his nose buried in a sheaf of looseleaf as she was announced. His assistant, Kaire, motioned her to one of the two wooden chairs in front of the desk and quickly bowed out. As she settled into the least rickety of the two ancient wicker chairs, he surprisingly looked up from his reading, shoving the pages rather roughly into a satchel.

The change in routine surprised her. Darkshadow's mantra was 'All things in their time and place'. An odd mantra for a spy until one understood that he wanted things that way and was rather _emphatic_ about enforcing that order. So that sudden change in his operating plan focused her attention.

Looking up, he focused those bland gray eyes on her, studying her as if he could simply read her as another page. There was something to it; the man did have a disturbing knack for reading people and telling when they were lying. Even Bayle tended towards honesty around Darkshadow. Of course, she'd figured out the second reason he did it. His implacable, flat stare and its accompanying silence discomfited even the most confident, giving him a definite advantage.

The effect usually had little effect on her, having enough experience with even worse kinds of stares. This morning, this wasn't the case, because the stare was different. It was harder, more piercing. Darkshadow was leaning forward, his elbows propped on his desk. Deep circles ringed his eyes, dark enough to be visible even under this light. All that unsettled her, but with no other recourse, she waited as patiently as she could.

His first words were short and preemptory. "Your report on last night please."

She nodded quickly, noting the tension in his request. Wasting no time on pleasantries, she delved into the events of the previous evening, laying out all the critical components of the planning, the attack, the presence of the undead and Aleria and Anomen saving Mook's life. She kept it short and concise, spelling out the details he wanted. He asked follow up questions, probing for further information, different angles to fit the puzzle together. His questions began to focus on what operational knowledge had been given up and then some very incisive queries regarding her obligation to one Anomen Delryn of the Order of the Radiant Heart.

The thinness of the spymaster's lips indicated his opinion of that, and if she read people so poorly as to miss that, the tone of his voice spoke volumes. "So, our security is breached in multiple arenas, as I feared. Our opponents possess critical information organization wide. It is well that the Shadowmaster solicited our new allies, as I have no doubt that without them, last night's attack would have succeeded. And if my other suppositions are correct…" Darkshadow grimaced, his usually placid face tight with anger.

"Of course, with their involvement, we now have further compromises. Not that the warehouse would not have had to been abandoned after the attack, but now the Order has compromised our security further."

"Sir, if I may, they deduced the presence of the tunnel mainly on their own," Sime hurriedly interjected. "And they saw nothing in regards to it."

"Their capabilities in deduction do not ease my concerns, they in fact only exacerbate it," Darkshadow said snappishly. He leaned in further, his eyes boring into her. "Especially considering one of my chief agents is now compromised by them."

"Compromised?" she fired back.

"Your obligation to Delryn gives them significant leverage over us and our department. While Mook is an exceptionally valuable asset and I am relieved that we retained the services of one of the Guild's more cunning and _loyal_ members, I do lament the potential loss of another valuable asset."

Sime swallowed hard. If Darkshadow truly believed her compromised, no longer loyal, life could become exceptionally dangerous. Or even more likely, very nasty, very brutish and not nearly short enough. That fear however, took a back seat to anger, that she couldn't control such an obligation, and even use it to their advantage. Especially with such a brash and insecure lordling like Delryn. That anger burning through, she surged forward in her seat and threw the implication back. "I am compromised? For offering a trade of services with that petty lordling? You know what he'll want and damn him, he'll get that. If _that_ is enough to compromise someone, you might want to have Bayle and all his people liquidated." She snorted derisively, her temper still burning. "And plus, have you not thought what benefits could be gleaned? You don't think I could control him, wrap him around my finger and make him dance to _my_ tune? I was trained from birth by Jocana the Fair, the prize of Markan the Terrible. If you think some pathetic, overbred Amnian noble is a match for me, then to the Hells with you. Sir."

Darkshadow sat back in his chair, his hand curved around his chin. He took a deep breath. "My apologies Sime. I had to test you. We are now beset by enemies, all hounding us. Loyalties are fading, weakening and our strength is bleeding away. If I truly thought you disloyal, you would not have gotten this far."

The surprise of an apology broke the storm raging in her heart, and now cut off from the heat, she slumped back in her chair. "I understand sir."

"Good. Very good." He nodded, the gesture closing that file. "On to your next assignment. As you've likely deduced, we are still suffering defections amongst our numbers. These defections must stop. I have been stepping up our efforts to root out the defectors and to try to determine the location of the opposition."

He smiled thinly. "We have had a break in these efforts."

"Yes?" she asked, anger stirring again inside her. These people had nearly cost her Mook and she wanted a piece of them.

"Indeed. We had a bit of luck. You are aware of Rhinna, yes?"

"A dust devil, that one. Fickle, blowing which ever way the wind goes and following heat like a whore follows coin."

"An apt if… colorful description of her. More so than we suspected. Last night, she made the mistake of trying to recruit one of my better agents. He brought her to me. With some … pointed... questioning, she revealed that there is a meeting with representatives of the opposition tomorrow evening. It is in the Five Flagons, tomorrow night after 3 bells."

"Excellent. I assume we will be out in force?"

"No." Darkshadow grimaced distastefully, his hand lifting a small ivory handled knife from the blotter of his desk. He ran the tip of his thumb on side of the blade. "Unfortunately. We know who amongst our number is arranging it, two gentlemen named Jaylos and Caehan. Apparently they are eager to move on to richer business opportunities. Rhinna had decided to stay behind as an organizer, but informed them that a few of 'the ladies' would be joining them."

"I see. But why aren't we planning to hit them there?" she asked, confused.

"Because the Shadowmaster has decided to use our new comrades."

"They aren't experienced in tradecraft though!"

"I am aware. You are to be present to liaise with them."

"But why aren't we doing this?"

"Frankly, because of the names of some of Rhinna's recruits, the Shadowmaster is loathe to trust this mission to any one who he does not trust. And there are few enough in that circle, few more who would be believable as recruits. So, once more, we will need their assistance. Especially Aleria and Jaheira, as Rhinna's recruits were all women."

"Aleria and Jaheira?" Sime laughed incredulously. "Sir, if there are two less likely Guild members in the whole city, it's those two!"

"This is why the Shadowmaster has put the entire department at your disposal to make them look like they _do_ belong."

"This will not be easy."

"No. It will not." He paused and grimaced. "And there is an additional complication."

"Of course. There always is."

"One of the women named by Rhinna escaped our net. If she is still free before the meeting, the meeting could be blown and we will lose this chance to extract one of their members and perhaps the location of our opposition." He grimaced and deftly reversed the knife in his hand, pressing the point into the blotter. "We cannot afford to lose this chance. We cannot. So, I also need you to run this woman down."

"Why me?" she asked, eyebrow arching. She'd been given a tall order, extra difficulties on top of it were not welcome. "Why not Argan or Diolo?"

"Because you are one of my best. Because I can trust you." He leaned forward. "And because of one other critical quality. You know the quarry intimately."

She swallowed hard, a cold pit forming in her stomach. "Who is it, sir?"

"An old partner of yours. Sareena. She has gone to ground, Sime and she needs to be found."

"I... I see," she said, swallowing hard.

"Indeed. We need her found and found quickly. We cannot allow this opportunity to slip through our fingers, Sime. Bring her in if you can. If not, she must be silenced."

She nodded quickly, jerkily. Sareena was a friend, a good friend. Apparently a now very dangerous friend. "Silenced sir? Are we sure that is necessary? What if... what if she's not involved?"

"We are under siege, Sime," Darkshadow said quickly, harshly. We are bleeding strength and will every day. We have a chance to strike back, Sime, and I will not endanger that for anything. Do you understand?"

"Of course, sir," she said with calmness that she did not feel. "I understand and I will not fail you."

He looked at her, his jaw taut and his eyes boring into her for a seeming eternity. Finally he nodded, sighing slightly. "I know, Sime. I know." He patted one of the stacks of paper and smiled banally, his usual calm veneer firmly back in place. "Now, please, be about your duties."


	8. Chapter 8 Seekings in Sun and Shadow

Chapter 8 - Seeking in Sun and Shadow

Breathing deep, she threw her head back and let Mother Sun warm her face. The bright, warm rays burnt away the cold, cloying dankness that clung to her like gravedirt. She'd fled to this perch to wallow in Mother Sun's embrace after nearly drowning in the shadows that had cloaked the office of her mentor, Darkshadow. The job often enough meant dwelling in the dark, but this meeting stank of it so heavily it drove her to the rough clay shingles of the guildhall's dome like she'd been fleeing her own doom. She needed to get free from the deep and the dark and into the clean open air.

From her refuge, she looked out over the sprawling dockyards of Athkatla and of the frenetic activity that fed the monster that was the capital of Amn. The sun drenched sails and the ever present stench of fish and bilge reminded her of another day like this one, the day she finally fled Calimport.

That day, she'd found a spire high above the docks, watched for a likely ship, knowing the dangers of such a sea voyage - discovery, torture, slavery or worse if the crew caught her and was… disinclined to unannounced passengers. But those odds were better than staying in the city. So, she stole aboard the _Seafarer's Folly_, a strangely fortuitously named ship, one that brought her to Athkatla and into contact the Shadow Theives. Captain Tegarden had introduced her to Mook, and the rest was history for a young Sime. It hadn't been a blessed life, but it had been a good one. She wasn't naïve enough to think a life of crime would ever be safe and pleasant, but the further in she went, the deeper the darkness at the bottom.

And she'd seen some very deep darkness in Darkshadow's eyes.

She shivered despite the sun's warm embrace as she mentally reviewed their interview. There always had been a coldness to her boss, a calculation. There was definite nastiness to what he did, but it was a reasoned nastiness. Efficient and sometimes unpleasant, but reasoned. But her orders now lacked that usual reason, lacked that measured approach.

Again she looked at the tall-masted ships lying at anchor. She _could_ slip aboard one, hell, she could buy her passage out of Athkatla, out of this war that seemed to get more twisted with each passing minute, a bloody turf war complete with bondage gear vampires and fiery holy knights. This was not what she'd signed up for.

Of course, if she did run now, they'd hunt her. The Darkshadow who'd given her those orders wouldn't even question that it was betrayal and he'd send all sorts after her. Friends of hers would be having these same thoughts as they were sent off to bring her down. If she started running, she'd always be running.

That left her with two unsavory choices.

She could hunt for her old friend and fail.

Or even worse, succeed.

The worst part was she was fairly confident she knew where to find Sareena. Every thief worth her salt would find a few bolt holes through out the city, little safe spots to hide in when things got… complicated. She herself had a good half dozen, two of which were so singularly clever she doubted anyone could find them without knowing they were there. In fact, the one amongst the mansions of the nobles was so ingenious, so perfectly hidden…

_Need to stop trying to break my arm patting my back here,_ she thought to herself darkly.

For all the thought she'd put into her bolt holes, she knew that Sareena hadn't spent as much time. She knew her too well from when they were little cutpurses working the north end of the Promenade. Sareena was a direct thinker, not one for a great deal of subtlety or circuitous reasoning. She also was never one to change something that worked. She hadn't in the two years they lived and worked together, and time didn't change habits, it reinforced them.

This meant that if Sareena had gone to ground, she had a damn good idea of exactly where to find her. She'd be in that little bolt hole of hers underneath the storage rooms of the Den of the Seven Vales. It was a great place to hide, secure, hidden, and defensible with tons of easily accessible supplies. She could stay hidden there for months if necessary.

It was a perfect place to hide. Except when the hunter knew exactly where it was.

Standing up, she realized she'd made her decision. She'd hunt her friend. Not because she wanted to, but because she had to. Even considering Darkshadow overreaction, Sareena had to be mixed up with the other group. The other guild that had attacked her, killed her friends and nearly killed her and Mook. So, she'd track Sareena down and ask her what Mask's name her part in this was.

Then… then she'd decide what she was going to do about it.

------

Entering the Promenade from the Coin Gate, she paused to watch workmen hauling rubble out of the ruins of the northwest corner. She remembered when it happened, the whole district shook. It had been a probe in force and a lot of good people had died. Wild rumors had flown about the city, and she'd notched it down as something to pay attention to, but it wasn't really her affair even with their casualties. Now, as the pieces came together, she found that explosion entwined in the tapestry of her life in ways that were only now coming into focus.

It'd unleashed the knight Aleria and her tormentor mage on to the city and onto the Guild. Already pressured, it gave them a hook to try and secure the services of this woman who escaped and battle someone involved in all of the mess the Guild had found itself. It also started the rapid ascent of one Sime as she got shuffled to more and more senior positions under Darkshadow as her seniors suffered… unfortunate fates.

Now, here she was, playing a key role in an increasingly dangerous war, liaison to the woman who escaped the blast she was watching be cleared out. Her fate had been bound to the knight's somehow, and now she found herself fighting undead and god knows what else. And witnessing miracles and magic she'd only imagined in her wildest dreams and bleakest nightmares.

Just thinking about it made her head spin and her stomach churn. Part of her, a very large part wanted to duck from all this responsibility, to go and run the streets with her old pals. Climb some gutters, find some interesting bits and pieces, get her pay and have a good time. So much easier.

And so much more vulnerable. The top was dangerous, but at least you could see more of the knives before they got to your throat. Her eyes settled on the _Seven Veils_.

Yes, as bad as it was up here, it was better than being down there.

Heaving a deep, dark sigh, she made her way down the steps and to the _Veils_.

------

The journey through the bustle of the Promenade and into the _Veils_ was thankfully uneventful, even offering her a chance to practice her light lifting techniques. A few coins and an iol stone richer, she watched the other people mill about in their contented blindness. They seemed unaware of the war going on or simply found the call of coin and business stronger than any fear of a guildwar. Of course, most of them probably thought it a good idea, for the average person a few more dead thieves was a good thing.

If only they knew some of those thieves were _undead_.

She shook her head and slipped into the _Veils_. It was a comforting place, with it's cheap silks and low cushions, a cheap and tawdry but still pleasant reminder of the land she left behind. She kept to the shadows, not wanting to really be seen, and especially not have to deal with Patricia's attentions. Despite the rather common name, the proprietress was also from Calimport, and insisted on talking of the old country when she came in. Most of the times she liked it, because she was friendly, if a little huggy, an excellent cook and poured free wine.

But the cheery face of a friend was not what she wanted to see, not with the mission she had right now. Already, she stalked one friend, and she couldn't be sure that Sareena hadn't enlisted Patricia's help in hiding her. She likely hadn't, but even risking it… no. No. She didn't want to cross even more people she liked. One was bad enough.

So, she slipped up the stairs to the rooms on the second floor. The second room on the right had a tacked over panel next to the fireplace leading into the _Veils'_ storage rooms. She slipped into the room, ignoring a loud argument about smells and imps in one of the other rooms.

Thankfully the room was unoccupied and unrented, making her work much easier. She walked to the fireplace and grabbed the edge of the wainscoting. With a jerk and a twist to the left, the panel swung out, revealing the rough stone of the fireplace. Taking a deep breath, she climbed in and pulled the panel shut behind her.

Near darkness enveloped her, the only light sifting through the boards of the wainscoting. Still, it was enough light to climb by. Hells, she could climb in the darkness of a cloudy night, so the few wan beams of light were enough. One thing you learned that is as much as light helped you see, it helped those looking for you see you even more. And she needed to find Sareena, not the other way round.

Slowly, she worked her way down the rough stones of the chimney. The freshly healed cut along her arm complained loudly any time she had to stretch for a handhold. She gritted her teeth and bore it out. She could deal with that slice of pain or she could drop a few stories into a storage room and break even more bones.

Surprising how the threat of death really helped one deal with pain.

Didn't help with the dust and the dirt however. The chimney was covered in soot, dust, dirt and gods knew what. As she clambered over a rough projection and the stone scratched her cheek, she frowned. It would be nice if people could clean these places out every now and then. It really was rude.

Finally, she reached the storage room. Swallowing hard, she managed to choke back a cough as she set about removing the worst of the dust, dirt and grime. Eyes adjusting to the light coming in from the door to the scullery, she slid to the jam and listened. Fires burned, pots bubbled, but it sounded pleasantly empty. Which was good, because she had to cross the scullery to the wine cellar to access Sareena's hiding spot.

Pushing the door open, she slid around it and inside. The heat of the flames that kept the washing pots and the bathing water warm were pleasant, filling the room with a pleasant and cheery heat. It was almost enough to warm the cold pit in her stomach.

Almost.

Keeping low, she slunk around the edge of the room to the heavy oak door of the wine cellar. Halfway there, she found a pot of still warm water, probably from the washing up. Not seeing anyone around, she plunged her hands into it and then splashed her face clean. If you were going to betray someone, you should at least be presentable while doing it.

The locks to the wine cellar weren't much of a challenge. Patricia obviously trusted her scullery maids. As she slipped inside, she thought that through. Considering the quality of Patricia's wine selection, expending money on quality locks would be a waste of time, akin to dressing an ass in the finest silks, perfuming it and rouging its cheeks. No matter what you did, it was still an ass.

Still, ass or no, she was inside the wine cellar. The access to Sareena's bolthole was in the rear, to the right and behind one of the older racks of casks. Moving cautiously and slowly, she picked her way over to back of the room and then to the fake flags that made up the entrance of the bolthole.

Very carefully she examined the panel. Sareena was not the most skilled at booby trapping things, but that information was a little old and desperate times often lead to some very interesting innovations. Interesting in the sense of the classic curse of her homeland, 'May you live in interesting times'.

Her examination revealed four nasties. Two she knew about. They were there when she'd last shared the bolthole with Sareena. The third was new, a needle trap with its spring _just_ showing. The fourth was actually rather ingenious. A simple pull attached to the spring that went off if the spring either compressed or expanded. She couldn't tell what it was attached to, but if she was staking her life on it, it was an alarm cord.

Considering that she was staking her life on it, she really hoped she was right.

The first two traps went down easy. Disabling traps you helped install usually was. And if it wasn't, the reason had more to do with incompetence than being a master at trap design. The second two took a little delicate work. She had to not just disarm the needle, but keep from tripping the alarm line. Thankfully, Nelick, an old friend, had shown her a trick for just this. Pulling out a thin silk cord and a sewing needle from one of her hip pouches, she slid to the side. Very gently, just as Nelick showed her, she threaded the needle and cord through the spring. Looping it off, she grinned triumphantly. The spring was bound, keeping the pressure just right. No alarms, no warnings.

The grin died.

With the traps now out of the way, she had to go into the bolthole and confront her friend. Face a friend who her boss thought was a traitor, and very well could be. She tried to gird herself with the thought that Sareena had been working with the same monsters that nearly killed her and Mook and would have succeeded without the aid of a certain red haired knight and her companions.

She tried to convince herself, but it just wasn't working. She _knew_ Sareena. She was many things, but by the wind's graces, she was not exactly imaginative. Treason of the order she was talking about really involved more creativity than Sareena'd been blessed with. Yet, she had her orders. Sareeena had to have done _something_.

She just needed to know what it was.

Unlimbering her new hand crossbow, she fitted one of the shocking bolts to the groove. It wasn't just that the bolt was the most potent she had, but the jagged tines on the bolt's head would help with intimation, hopefully keeping the stronger Sareena from trying to fight her.

With a deep breath and crossbow in hand, she pulled the hatch open. Hunching low, she darted forward, side stepping the two pressure plates waiting for the unwary. She burst through the dividing curtain, staying low. Sidestepping a crate, she swung around towards the pallet in the dimly lit corner.

She'd achieved complete surprise. Sareena was stretched out on her pallet, asleep and unarmed and unarmored. The brunette, to her credit, woke with a start as she swung around, but it was far too late for her. Pulling up out of arm's reach, Sime leveled her crossbow at the taller woman's chest.

She schooled her face into her best 'enforcer' mask; thin mouth, knit brows and narrowed eyes. With a voice far more confident and controlled then she felt, she said, "Morning Sareena. I think we need to have a little talk."


	9. Chapter 9 Bad Timing

_Reader warning - some violence/gore ahead_

------

**Chapter 9 - Bad Timing**

Sareena, her brown eyes wide as saucers, stared unblinking at her though the darkness. Straining through the dim light, those eyes went from her face, down to her crossbow and its blue edged bolt and then back to her face. She frowned back, glaring through narrowed eyes, trying to capitalize on the surprise with intimidation. Their eyes met and she felt Sareena measuring her, probing her defenses. The room stilled, every breath painfully loud, every movement wildly amplified. The first confrontation had begun, will against will and she would not be found wanting.

Sareena's eyes narrowed and those broad, muscular shoulders loosened. The taller woman flexed her hands and fingers, running through the little exercises both had been taught to calm jittery nerves. The movement spread upwards, back through the shoulders and neck and settling in her face, the tightness of panic smoothing into a calm and composed mask.

Hands suddenly sweaty, she shifted her grip on the leather wrapped handle of her crossbow. Now she knew why Harrik always harped on the need for well tailored gloves for any of this sort of work. She could barely hold on to her weapon.

Now was the most dangerous moment, the moment of decision. She had the drop, she had the shot, but all the initiative lay with Sareena. The next moments would play out how _she_ wanted them. Fight, flight, negotiation, surrender; all of these options were on the table. For as well as she knew Sareena, all that knowledge and certainly was now useless. She'd likely try to talk, but with the back against the wall, even the most predictable of people became extremely dangerous. When she was younger, she watched another street girl, cornered by two older toughs with ill intent charge, throwing herself at both of them like some rabid animal; tearing, clawing and biting. She left both of them in ribbons.

If Sareena made a desperate charge, she'd get her shot of, but if her shot wasn't true enough… she held no illusions she'd have a chance in hand to hand against the bigger, stronger woman.

"Sime?" Sareena asked.

"The one and only," she replied flatly, trying to sound insouciant, confident, dangerous.

Sareena laughed. She bloody _laughed_. Her trigger finger twitched. "Oh thank Tymora! Simey, I'm so happy to see you!"

She blinked. She couldn't help it. She'd expected wheedling, begging or just wary caution. She'd braced herself for panic, even a desperate charge. But not laughter and smiles. Forcing down surprise, she growled, "That's not the most common reaction to a woman holding a crossbow on you."

Sareena laughed and stood up, straightening her tunic. "Maybe it's not." She reached over to a rickety chair and grabbed her leather leggings and casually stepped into them, just like when she'd walked into her sleeping alcove when they'd been younger. "But it is one when it's one of your friends showing up. Now, are you going to put that thing down or am I gonna have to take you over my knee again?"

"You know Sareena, you got a strange way of showing friendship," Sime fired back, feeling her cheeks burning with more than just anger. How could she think she was -that- stupid?

"Okay, okay, I was just kidding about the spanking. Jinkies Simey, you go off and join all the 'super secret' kiddies and suddenly you're such a tight tunic," she laughed, pulling her leggings up over her hips and starting to lace them up. "But fine. No more jokes. And by Mask, am I glad to see you."

Rage tightened her jaw. She couldn't believe Sareena was making _jokes_. _Jokes_. "Funny. You'd think you'd at least be somewhat concerned that I've tracked you down. On account of you working for the other guild. The one killing _our_ brothers and sisters." A lump formed in her throat and she nearly choked on the words. "The ones who nearly killed Mook last night."

The laces fell from Sareena's hands and all the color drained from her face. The taller woman stiffened as if slapped and her eyes locked onto her face, searching her face, looking for the joke, the jape. She let her, let the truth show in her expression. Why not? If threats hadn't worked, pain and anger might.

Sareena's mouth worked wordlessly, her lips flapping like a beached fish's until finally she found her voice. "Other guild? Mook? Simey… Simey what in the nine hells are you talking about?"

"Don't call me Simey!" she growled, thrusting her crossbow at Sareena. "You lost the right the day you turned on us!"

"Simey…" She stopped suddenly, eyes widening as Sime's face went fire hot. "Sime. Sime." She said quickly, placatingly. She held up her hands, palms out towards her. "Sime. I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not the member of any other guild. And I'd never do anything to hurt Mook. Come on Sime, you _know_ me. Would I do that?"

"Would you? I don't know," she growled back, her rage roiling like a sandstorm. "I don't know anymore. But I do _know_ that Mook's laying in a bed right now because some vampire assassins nearly managed to kill her! Assassins from that other guild, the one you were going to join… or hells, maybe already joined." She sneered and gestured violently with her crossbow. "So, do I know you? _Do_ I?"

Sareena backed away, right into the wall. "Sime, Sime, I'd never do that. Never. I never would betray the Guild, Sime. I'd never betray you like that."

"So, you were just conducting some counter intelligence work when you were having those talks with Rhinna then, right? Finding all about them and planning on telling your friends all about how those bastards were planning on killing Mook and wiping out the Guildhall." She sneered. "Real good job you did on warning us. Lot of dead friends because you made a wrong turn trying to find me, let me know."

"Rhinna?" Sareena shook her head violently and her cheeks flushed red. "_Rhinna?_ You'd come here and accuse me of switching sides on the word of that fickle, unreliable, treacherous whore? You'd trust her over me?" She blinked. "Who the hell are you?"

"Someone trying to protect what little family I have left."

"I'm family too, Sime. You're like a sister to me, and you … you think I'd betray you? On that whore's word?" Sareena swallowed hard and shook her head. She raked her hands through her short brown hair before finally looking up. "Is the rot that bad? Is this what we're coming to now? That you're… _you're_ going to kill me on her word?" She heaved a sigh. "Mask's eyes, if that's it… do it. Just… do it."

A taunt about cut rate theatrics died on her lips. Even through her anger, the bleak resignation on her face was as clear as a desert morning. It wasn't an act, no mirage to ensnare her for advantage. Not even Bayle was that good an actor.

Yes, Rhinna was an unreliable witness. The woman couldn't even always be relied on to tell you if it was dark or day. When you were outside. Add in that Darkshadow probably used his more… persuasive interrogation methods, and the case got weak quickly. She assumed that Darkshadow had more, he must have. He didn't act precipitously.

Then again, he was nervous, edgy. He had not been in control during their interview. Could he be jumping to conclusions? Or letting his paranoia, a valuable asset when controlled and focused, run completely free?

She frowned, realizing suddenly that it was possible.

Rage bled out of her and her body shuddered as a breath she didn't even know she'd been holding rushed out of her chest. Her hand shook and her finger loosened on the trigger. But it didn't come off.

Still, she'd found Sareena hiding. Hiding in her bolt hole. But she'd been happy to see her. Her head tilted first to one side than to the other. Many questions, few answers.

Voice uneven, unsteady, she set out in search of some of those answers. "Okay, let's assume for a moment you aren't a traitor and I shouldn't just drag you in for Darkshadow to question."

Sareena cut her off with a huge, chest shaking sigh and a very nervous laugh. "Yes, let's assume that. Definitely."

"So, let's start with a few questions. Why would Rhinna name you?"

"Mask knows!" Sareena spat. "Maybe it's because Darkshadow put the tongs to her like he likes to. You'd admit to anything when that bastard's spooling your guts out on a hot iron."

Sime's brow furrowed and she grimaced. Darkshadow's methods could be unsavory at times, but the more lurid tales were just that. Tales to scare and intimidate, to make people talk easier and quicker. She was used to those exaggerations, but right now she didn't much feel like having them tossed in her face. "Those stories are just that, Sareena. Stories. Yes, Darkshadow and his interrogators can get rough, but all this talk of hot iron and pincers? No more substance to them than a mirage."

"You really believe that?" Sareena said, eyebrows arched incredulously.

"Yes. I do," she tossed back matter of factly.

"Oh Simey… so deep in and so blind…"

Her grimace turned into a growl and she raised the crossbow again. "We were not discussing Darkshadow or his interrogations. We were talking about what would have gotten you named by that whore Rhinna."

"I don't know!" Sarenna tossed back. "If she did name me, it would have been out of spite! You remember Taxos and what that slut did."

Sime nodded, shrugging her shoulders. Even in as jaded as group as her fellow guildmates, Rhinna's bedding, and method of doing so, of Sareena's then partner Taxos had been the talk of the Guild for months. Although, all things considered, that gave Sareena far more reason to attack Rhinna than the inverse. "Okay, you might have a point there. But there's a second question… when I came in, you were really happy to see me. You were worried it was going to be someone else. What are you afraid of?"

"I'm being hunted by Darkshadow! What more do I need to be afraid of?" Sareena replied quickly.

"And you know I'm one of his agents. And you were damn happy to see me," she replied, eyes focusing on her friend's face. The sums weren't adding properly.

"But… but you're my friend," Sareena replied, wringing her hands. Splaying her hands out, she tried to grin. "I mean, why wouldn't I think you didn't mean me harm?"

"Sareena, I love you and all, but you're not that dumb," she said, eyes focused on her friends. "You were running from something, and it wasn't Darkshadow. What or _who_ is it?"

"Yes Sareena, who or what were you running from?" a voice sounded from behind her shoulder. With a silent curse that she'd let someone sneak up on her, she slid into a half turn to keep an eye on Sareena while scanning for the new threat. Her eyes only provided the confirmation her ears had already picked up. The voice was too familiar, too harsh for her not to remember.

Yzabel. The Knife swaggered out of the gloom, naked sword in her hand. Two of her chief lieutenants, the jackal faced Annika and the thuggish, heavy browed Tirimos, trailed her like obedient pets. Both excellent fighters and vicious as rabid dogs. Of course, both were pups compared to Yzabel.

The short, graying haired Knife swaggered into the dim light, her mouth curled into a twisted grin as she played with her sword, swinging it back and forth in short, quick arcs. She tilted her head up, looking right at Sareena. In the process, she nearly completely turned her back on [i]her[/i], when she had a loaded crossbow in her hand. Her voice light, almost friendly, Yzabel asked, "You didn't answer the question Sareena, who are you running from? You get involved in something you shouldn't? Talk to someone you shouldn't?"

Sareena swallowed hard, all the color bleeding from her face. She held her hands out palms out and started to back away from the sword's point, swinging dangerously close to her. "I didn't Yzabel. I'm loyal, you know that. I didn't talk to anybody. Not anybody."

Yzabel smiled, the kind that poured ice water down the spine. Even though it wasn't directed at her, her finger still twitched on the trigger of her crossbow. A sudden thought popped into her head.

She had the shot. She could take it.

"That's good, Sareena. That's very good," Yzabel replied.

To her left, Sareena took a deep breath, shoulders sagging with relief. The hairs on her own neck stood on end. There was something too vicious in The Knife's smile. Her mouth went dry and her throat closed, as _what_ that smile meant locked into place. She wanted to call out a warning, but she couldn't find the words.

Blind, oblivious, Sareena sighed heavily, even smiling. "Thank you Yzabel."

Yzabel smiled again, that same mirthless smile. "Quite welcome."

Smile never wavering, Yzabel leapt forward, blade flashing like lightning.

She did nothing.

Sareena never even had a chance to react.

Those brown eyes went wide, staring into Yzabel's in complete shock. She gasped, blood running down her lips and chin as her body shook around the Knife's sword. That same smile still on her face, Yzabel shrugged. "Come now Sareena, can't be that surprised. You cross the Knives… you get the knife." With a short, sharp laugh, she twisted the sword and flung Sareena to the ground in a spray of blood.

"That's one traitor taken care of," Yzabel said with a slight chuckle, turning back to her lieutenants.

Stomach churning and chest tight, Sime stared down at Sareena, watched her gasp for one last breath and then go still. Watched the ever expanding pool of blood trickle through the rough cut stone, lapping at boots and furniture. Gagged as that growingly all too familiar smell of death filled her nostrils. She stepped back, trying to keep her boots clear of her friend's blood and bumped into a barrel because her eyes were still glued to the lifeless eyes of her friend. Choking down a toxic combination of bile and anger, Sime swallowed hard and with eyes burning and hand tensed around her crossbow, she whirled towards Yzabel and her two goons.

"I… I was supposed to bring her in! Darkshadow wanted her interrogated, not murdered!" The words came unbidden, a surprise even to herself. They weren't the words she wanted to scream about a murdered friend. Even in anger, she found herself couching her words in the structure of her orders. "She's no good to us now!"

Tirimos laughed hoarsely, braying like the jackass he was. "Don't know Sime, seems she already spilled her guts to me!"

Annika chuckled, but both stopped laughing with the harsh chop of Yzabel's hand. "Darkshadow's orders or no, Sareena was one of _mine_, Sime. She was _mine_ to discipline as I saw fit." Her still bloody sword in hand, she stepped closer to Sime, ignoring the outthrust crossbow and the loaded barbed bolt. She smiled, a singularly unpleasant expression on her hard face. "And I have far less tolerance of disloyalty and disobedience than some of my fellows. So, unless Darkshadow wants me to start disciplining _his_ people for their failings, he should stay out of my affairs."

There was such menace in that smile that even with her crossbow pointed straight at the older woman's chest, she took an involuntary step backwards. She didn't want to be that close to her. "Darkshadow has responsibility for all internal security," she said, a slight tremble in her voice.

"That he does. And how many people did we lose last night at one of our most secure facilities?" Yzabel said flatly. "Too many. Too many good people. So maybe Darkshadow should spend more time checking that vaunted security and less time troubling himself over one of my stray charges. Unless he wants me …" Yzabel smiled that same deadly smile and extended her blade, the point pressing uncomfortably against her stomach. "checking up on his people."

She had a choice. She could pull the trigger and die or she could back down and maybe live. And she suddenly had a real strong attachment to breathing. Enough to swallow her pride and her anger. "I suppose I can see your point."

"You always were a smart little girl, Sime." Yzabel patted her face 'affectionately'. "See to it you stay that way."

"That's the plan," Sime said, tilting her chin up defiantly. Yzabel had won, made her point, but she would be damned if she would slink away.

"Good plan." Yzabel smiled patronizingly, tilting her head. "And you know, speaking of plans… Darkshadow should have his chance. We shouldn't send you home empty handed." She turned and looked at Tirimos. "Tirimos, let's give our friend Sime something to bring back for Darkshadow to… interrogate."

Tirimos grinned toothily, displaying what teeth he still had left. He hefted his sword. "Right you are boss." He stepped forward and slashed down. There was a sickening, wet sound followed by the sound of metal thunking into stone.

As the blade flashed, she'd squeezed her eyes shut, knowing full well what the blasted man was going to do. She could hear him chuckle and the low chuckles of the others. The contempt in Yzabel's voice was so thick she could have spread it across bread. "Well, Sime, don't you want your prize for your master?"

"No. No I'm fine," she choked out.

"No. No. We can't have you going back empty handed. We don't want Darkshadow angry at you. Hate to lose you so soon." She gripped her free arm, squeezing the wrist until her hand popped open. Something wet and slippery was thrust into it and her hand was closed around it. "There. Course, you'll probably want a sack for that. Don't want the guard arresting you. Annika, get Sime a sack."

Her will broke. There was nothing else to call it. Pride was all well and good, but not at this cost. Stomach churning, she twisted free of Yzabel's grip, dropped her grisly prize and ran. Ran as fast as her feet could carry her, ducking through the passage and into the cellars of the inn with tears streaming down her cheeks.

Harsh, mocking laughter followed her, echoing in her ears.


	10. Chapter 10 Strength in Numbers

Later, she'd never be able to explain how she got out of the _Veils_ or made it through the streets of Athkatla without either being killed or arrested. The whole journey was one long, vague blur. What she could remember were disjointed bits and pieces; the cry of a child, the roughness of a stone column, a bright red coat. None of it made sense and all of it was overlaid with a thick, cloying stench of blood, strong enough to override any desire to probe those memories deeper. All that mattered was she made it back alive. Even the analytical part of her mind decided to leave it be, ascribing the miracle to all the time she'd spent memorizing routes back to the Guildhall.

She'd once boasted she could make her way back from anywhere in the city in her sleep. She proved her point. She'd done it in the middle of a waking nightmare.

She felt no need to brag.

Even the thick doors of the Guildhall, her supposed sanctuary, proved no defense against that nightmare. Once the doors closed the darkness only deepened. Darkshadow, with disturbing prescience, summoned her before she could even sit down. If she'd been a little more with it, a little less in shock, she might have found a way to at least delay their meeting, at least long enough to clean up. However, Darkshadow in a rage was not a man to be thwarted, so along with one of his assistants, she descended into the bowels of the Guildhall, bloodstained hand and boots in all.

At first, the interview had gone well, or so it had seemed. She reported back as well as she could, telling him that Sareena was dead. He must have assumed she'd done the bloody work, not questioning until she'd let slip about Yzabel's presence. That name drove him over the edge. The usually controlled, calm spymaster virtually vaulted his desk to grab her by the front of her cuirass. He'd shaken the rest of the story out of her, the worry, the words and the threat. The threat of all of it seemed to calm him the most. Sneering, he'd let her go, telling her to see to her other duties and cursing her for failing to at least bring in the head.

That last, parting curse, uttered with such contempt and with his back turned, twisted like a knife in the gut. Her blood cried for her to take those words and ram them into his back at the point of her blade, but her mind managed to rein in her surging blood. Barely. Even furious, she doubted Darkshadow would truly leave his back that unguarded. If she made a move, she _knew_ it would be her with the blade in her gut, _her_ blood darkening the sands of life. So, she clamped down on her temper and her pain and stalked out with what little dignity she had left.

Not knowing what else to do and frightened of what worse show of weakness might do to her, she composed her face into Courtesan's Mask, the last defense of a woman's savaged pride. It was one you learned early growing up as she had. The face blank, the eyes narrowed and chin titled up while the back was a straight as a blade. It wasn't much of a shield, it never was. Just using it meant pain, meant… degredation. It didn't remove the blood spatter from her cheek, no more than it ever got rid of the black eye or the swollen lip. But it was enough, a way to freeze the emotions just long enough to escape without breaking down and showing weakness to the pack. The harem was no different at times than the Guildhall, either place ready to pull down the weak.

With both hands throttling her pain and fingernails tearing her palms, she strode out of the Guildhall, her steps confident. She might be splattered in blood and dirt, but she was in control, had to be in control. She was the strong, not the weak, scared woman who just as well have a bullseye on her back. She even managed to maintain that façade until she disappeared beyond the first layer of sentries. But as soon as she was clear and free, she dropped that pretense and took to her heels for safety.

There were safehouses she could disappear to. Boltholes she could slip into and pull closed, leaving the Guild, Darkshadow and the city to burn. But no matter how good she was, there was no guarantee she'd not end up a bloodstain in a backroom like Sareena. So she ran for the safety of the one person she _could_ trust.

So, she'd breezed up the right alley, knocked the right code and brushed past exclamations of shock and dismay. They didn't matter, at least not right now. No, the woman who mattered was at the top of the stairs. She brushed past the guard at the top, sparing him only enough of a glance to make him stand back. In that moment of hesitation, she yanked open the door and barged in.

"Bloody hellfire! Can't anyone knock and let a woman change in… Lass? Sime? What in Mask's name happened to you?"

Sime stopped dead in her tracks. She'd been so focused on getting _here_ she'd not even considered what would happen next. Grasping desperately for words, she started to shake. "Mook… I… I…"

Arms folded around her, pulling her in. "Shhh lass, shhh. You're alright now. You're with your Mook now."

Tears she'd been fighting since Yzabel's first taunt broke free, and she buried a body wracking sob into Mook's chest.

------

Too tired to resist any more, she let Mook and one of her people, Lyndia, bustle her off to a small washroom. They stripped her off, washed off the worst of the soot, mud and blood and bundled her up into a large blanket. Lyndia guided her to one of the overstuffed chairs, the same one she'd kept watch over Mook earlier and tucked her and the blanket into it. She pulled over the other chair and left as wordlessly as she'd entered, nodding once to Mook before departing.

Mook, pale and moving with exaggerated precision that revealed how weak she still was, set up her coffee urn and lit the fire underneath the battered silver vessel. Part of her wanted to know who'd thought to bring it from her office, but it was a pointless question. Mook's people, what was left of them, weren't going to leave their boss without her coffee.

The soft, rich scent of Mook's special brew slowly filtering out, Mook settled herself into the opposite chair, sighing a little too softly and deeply. She reached out and squeezed her knee, her smile about the only thing at full strength. "Lass, are you ready to talk about it?"

Wrapped deep inside her blanket cocoon, she looked out at Mook, at her smile framed in her still pale face. The heavy bandage, white and crisp, stood out on her neck and she felt her eyes being drawn down to it. For a long moment, all she could do is stare at the white linen, a stark reminder of the attack and how close she'd come to losing her. Her mind spun in a whirlwind of terror, shuddering at what she would have done if she'd lost Mook too. Where would she have gone, who could she…

"Lass! Sime!" Mook's voice cut through the thread of her thoughts like cold steel.

"Mook." She sighed heavily, chest heaving.

"Aye lass, it's me. The one and only." Mook said, grinning slightly and squeezing her knee again.

She sighed again, feeling the terror and fear starting to fall away, smothered by the heavy blanket. Trying to smile, trying to look anything like her normal self, she looked over at the woman who was the closest to a mother she'd ever really had. Thank Mask, thank Tymora, thank Helm and Tyr she was still alive. Hell, thank all the gods, excepting maybe that bastard Cyric. "It's good, really good to see you're alright."

"It's good to be seen still amongst the living. Aran and Ivar filled me in on just how close a thing it was." She subconsciously rubbed at the bandage around her neck. "And it sounds like I owe you a debt, my little Sime." Mook's face tightened and her eyes watered as her hand tightened around her knee, but she was still trying to smile. "They tell me you made a bargain with that tight codpiece of a priest to save my life."

Sime swallowed and sniffed. She wanted to play her part in the drama, but she didn't have the strength to. "I had to, Mook. I couldn't… I couldn't let you go."

The smile faded away as Mook bit her lower lip. The older woman looked, for one of the first times she could remember, -old-. "Well, don't worry Sime, this old woman has deep pockets. I'll cover the mark. After all, it is my hide you paid for."

Sime found herself grimacing and flushing at the same time. "I don't think you can cover this one, Mook."

Mook's eyes narrowed, studying her face. It was obvious that while the body was still weak, the mind wasn't as she sucked in a breath and slumped deeper into the chair. "Sime… oh Sime… you shouldn't have."

"What else did I have to offer?" she said with a deep, tired sigh. "He wouldn't take coin, you know how those 'priests' can be, especially about their 'honor'. But a little bedsport, even with one of us?" She snorted. "He could always claim he was trying to convert me to the True Path." She rolled her eyes and waved a hand dismissively. "'Rigorously'."

It was obvious Mook didn't see the humor. She didn't even crack a smile. She just squeezed her knee, her mouth a thin, grim line. "Aye. But…" She bit her lip. "You don't understand, Sime. You don't know the sire that spawned him. If he's anything like that bastard…"

"Mook," she reached out and took the older woman's hand. "Even if he's twice the bastard, which I doubt with him being the halberd up the hindquarters Helmite he is, I'll still pay my debt to him. I'm a big, tough girl, you made me that way." She smiled up at Mook, eyes tearing up. "'S why I made the bargain. Couldn't lose you, you're the only family I've got."

"Oh Sime, you shouldn't …" Mook's words caught in her throat and her hand squeezed hers tightly, so tight she could feel her bones creak.

"I had to," She pushed herself out of her chair, kneeling in front of Mook's and locking eyes with her. She couldn't let her feel guilty, not for this. "Wasn't any choice, there wasn't any time and I had to make sure he saved you." She shrugged her shoulders. "And whatever he is, however he treats me, it's not going to be worse than…" She shrugged again, not really wanting to delve into those darker parts of her past. "It's done Mook, and I'd do it again. You're that important."

"You shouldn't be taking risks like that, Sime. It's not smart, and I raised you to be smart." There were tears shining in the older woman's eyes.

"Took too much after you. Had to take care of my people," she replied, trying to smile wryly, even though her eyes were misting up.

"Damn fool girl," she admonished through her own tears before rocking forward and gathering her into a rib crushing hug.

------

Pouring coffee into two well worn mugs, Mook handed Sime one and settled back into her chair, swiping one forearm across her face. She sniffed and rubbed her eyes before taking a long sip of her coffee. Lowering the mug, she heaved a sigh and smiled wanly. "Sime, thank you. I mean it. But for Mask's sake, if you could, let's try to avoid you saving my life like that again. I hate how my nose gets all stuffed up after a good cry. Can barely smell the coffee."

Sime couldn't help it, she laughed. A real laugh, followed by a real smile. It might not have been a large one, but it was one she _felt_. "It's a deal, provided you don't go around nearly getting yourself killed like that."

Mook snorted and shook her head. "Now that's a deal I'd be happy to agree to."

Sime smiled and reached out with her mug. "Deal."

Mook nodded and solemnly clinked her mug to Sime's and both women drank. Silence descended over them as both sipped coffee and pulled back into their thoughts. Sime managed to work halfway through her mug before Mook spoke up. "Lass, if you're feeling up to it, what happened out there?"

Involuntarily, her back straightened and her head snapped up. "What happened out there?"

"Sime, something bad happened out there. I know it. Hells, you were still covered in it." She frowned slightly. "Now, we all do things we have to, sometimes some very bad ones. And if you don't want to talk about it, I understand. But, you were in such a bad way, maybe it'll help."

Sime swallowed hard, hands tightening around her mug. Part of her wanted to just bury the afternoon down deep and leave it be. Forget it and try and move it on. But, Jocana always said the mind is like the ever shifting dunes. The most precious memories could be swallowed by the shifting sand and the most hateful blown free, no matter how deep they're buried. This one felt like one that wouldn't stay buried.

Nodding, she took a deep, long drink of coffee, allowing the rich heat to fortify her heart. "The blood was Sareena's," she admitted heavily.

"Sareena's?" Mook exclaimed, sitting up blade straight. "How?"

"Darkshadow sent me to bring her in. Said she'd turned on us…"

"Darkshadow sent you!?" Mook growled. "Didn't he know… of course he knew you two used to run together, that you were friends."

"It's the reason he gave for picking me," she said quietly. "Because I knew her best I could hunt her down, bring her in."

"The fool," Mook spat. "The thrice damned, cold hearted fool! I told Aran he wasn't the right one for the job. Too cold, too many sharp angles in that bastard's mind." She shook her head violently then heaved a sigh. "I'm so sorry lass. I can't believe the bastard made you cross blades with her."

"I didn't," she admitted heavily, the horror of that cellar turning her stomach again.

"You didn't? But you said the blood was Sareena's. If you didn't, what happened?"

"I hunted her down, like Darkshadow asked," she said levelly, the emotion draining out of her voice as she retreated into reporting mode. "She was exactly where I thought she'd be. I got the drop on her. I was angry, so angry with her. To think _she'd_ turn on us, on you, on _me_. I was supposed to bring her in, but I had to know why. She said she hadn't turned on the Guild, that she wasn't a traitor." She looked up. "I believed her too. Damn it all, she's not that good a liar. And I believed her."

She took a deep breath, plunging on. "She was going to tell me something. Something had her scared, Mook. But Yzabel showed up, Yzabel and her two dogs. _She_ said Sareena was a traitor. And she… she…" Sime shivered, that quick, brutal strike replaying behind her eyes. "She gutted her, just like that. One of her own, just like that."

"Bitch," Mook voice was as hard as stone. "That bitch did ever love killing. Loves it too much, if you ask me."

Sime's head snapped up. "She does. I could see it. She was smiling the whole time. She killed Sareena with a smile on her face… and I just stood there Mook. I had my crossbow drawn, I had the shot. I could have stopped her."

"And you'd be just as dead as her right now," Mook said flatly.

"But I let her…"

"Lass, you didn't _let_ them kill Sareena. They did it, and I know those dogs of hers. Even if you did get that shot off and not miss, they'd have cut you down dead. And Yzabel's got enough coin and favors to get herself brought back from whatever Hells she'd end up in." Mook shook her head. "You did the only thing you could, you stayed alive. Maybe firing would have been more heroic, felt better, but all it'd do is get you a shallow grave… if they were that generous."

Blood chilling like a desert night, Sime stared at Mook. The older woman's face was pinched and drawn, but her eyes showed she believed what she was saying. Hells below, she _knew_ Mook was right, but the cold logic of it turned her stomach. "Maybe…"

"There are no maybes in this," Mook said finally and flatly. "Maybe last night shook you up, all those pretty knights in their shiny armor. Maybe they'd have pulled the trigger, maybe they'd even survive Yzabel's dogs, but likely they'd be dead and their armor sold for the steel." Mook sighed and leaned forward, squeezing Sime's knee. "Better alive than a hero, that's what your old Mook says."

"I… yes, you're right," Sime said, not sure that her brain could convince her heart of the logic of it.

"Every now and then, I am," she blew air through her lips and worried her lower lip before attempting a smile. It wasn't much of one, hollowed out by the sadness behind her eyes. "Doesn't mean either of us have to love the fact."

"Maybe… but you didn't see what they did, you didn't have to listen to them laugh, watch them… watch them…" She pulled her arms in tight and another set joined them, hugging her tightly.

"No lass, I didn't. And knowing Yzabel, that beast probably put you through enough of the Hells. She's never liked me, and you being in high in Aran's eye only made her act even worse. I'm just glad she decided to just play with you." She pulled back and smiled at Sime, brightly and warmly. "And I know it wasn't easy, but you're still with me. You're still breathing, which is the most important thing."

"But Sareena isn't."

"No, she ain't," Mook frowned. "I know you didn't think she was a traitor, but she _could_ have been. Enough good people have turned coat. Hells, she could have just tried crossing Yzabel, damn fool thing to do and leave her breathing…" Mook shook her head. "Never mind that, but you are alive. And I am. And lass," the left side of her mouth curled into a vicious smile and her eyes hardened as her hands squeezed Sime's shoulders. "That means we can get our revenge on that vicious little bitch."

Sime found herself matching that smile. She _would_ get Yzabel back. She'd make her pay for Sareena and for humiliating her. Yzabel was dangerous, but so was she, especially with her Mook. "I like that plan."

"Good. So do I," Mook grinned. "But, you still have other work before that. Guild first, revenge second, and I know what Aran has in mind for you. We had a nice chat this morning once I woke up." She laughed.

"He did seem to show a particular interest," Sime said, feeling a little rush as the little nugget of how interested Aran had been in Mook's well being turned back up. She could feel her lips crack with a smile with a chance to feed her curiosity, especially about such an interesting topic.

"Well, I'm his best operator, course he's interested," Mook said, one eyebrow arched but beyond that her expression gave away nothing. "And once he updated me, I know how important a job you have."

"Of course," Sime replied, remembering her other assignments and shelving that factoid back into a niche in her memory. She could pursue that later.

"Course, they'll wait a while. Cause right now, what you need is hot food and a rest. They told me you stayed up watching me last night. Well, we need you top form. Which means to bed with you. Now, afore you worry, I'll have you up before nightfall and get you to the Coronet. Aran wants you to base out of there, keep an eye on our new friends."

"Not a bad plan," Sime said with a nod, her mind already working over the mission and her plans. "It'll let me … take care of debts and keep a watch on them. And it should be safe enough… well as safe as the Coronet gets."

Mook snorted. "Plenty of time for that, after food and sleep. You've got paladins and sorcerers and priests to watch. Not easy work, even for a bright one like you."

"Yes Mook," she smiled slightly.

"And no sneaking off while I get you food," her eyes narrowed and she waggled a finger in her direction, no doubt remember how many times she _had_ snuck off as a girl.

"Yes Mook."

"Good lass."


	11. Chapter 11 Chancy Situations

**Chapter 11 - Chancy Situations**

Sime tugged the strap of her satchel and pushed open the door of the _Copper Coronet_. All too familiar smells swirled out, bathing her in a cloud of sweat, roasting meat and spilt ale. She shook her head as the door swung shut, it was still nigh impossible to believe just how much the smell had improved since the _change_ in management. Since Lehntian's oh-so-timely demise, the eau de _Coronet_ had drastically improved. The tang of old blood, the cloying odor of rotten rushes and the sickly sweet smell of lotus smoke no longer mingled with the more legitimate and honest smells that filled every respectably seedy taproom in the city. Under Hendak's management, the _Coronet_ was on its way up; still seedy and dangerous, but not the wretched hive of scum and villainy it had been.

Part of her would miss it. The rest of her, liking her insides where they belonged, couldn't bother to mourn.

A lot of that had to do with Aleria and her companions, and while it was still not a place fit for a lady or a knight of her stature, she could understand why the knight did maintain her quarters here. Hendak and Bernard were sworn and dedicated allies, reason enough, but she imagined the knight took no small pleasure in watching the _Coronet_ rehabilitate itself. It was still leagues from respectable, but a quick scan of the crowd in finer fabrics and more modern cuts proved it was improving.

Shouldering her pack, she wove her way through crowd towards the bar. She'd stopped at her own quarters after waking from her Mook enforced sleep. The crafty old hand managed to sneak _her_ a sleeping draught. Considering she'd succeeded she obviously needed the sleep. For that reason, she considered forgoing revenge on her Mook. Oh, not completely, but something small instead of trapping her wardrobe with alchemist's fire. Sure, she needed the sleep, but there was honor to be maintained.

Once she'd managed to shake off the induced sleep and Mook's escort, she'd gathered the gear she'd need to take care of her responsibilities. She'd packed her satchel with all the tools she'd likely need, especially with the _Coronet_ her new base of operations until further notice.

Sauntering up to the bar, she rapped on the freshly waxed bartop and smiled at the heavyset Bernard. Anyone looking at the balding, affable bartender might assume he was just your average publican, perhaps a little quicker with the blackjack for managing such a rowdy place. Those who _knew_ things knew he was one of the best smugglers in the city. But for the few like herself who even managed to pierce that veil knew that Bernard ran one of the most extensive intelligence networks in the city, one that rivaled Darkshadow's. The question no one could answer was _whose_. She figured him for a Harper, but there was enough evidence to point to any number of other meddling organizations. Or he could just be an independent. Whatever he was, he was an important man to know and even more important one to be friendly with.

She smiled broadly at him as he sauntered over. "Afternoon Bernard."

"Ahh, lil' Sime's back. Hate to tell you, but I did hire your replacement. Barely a shadow compared te your beauty, but a man needs his pints delivered."

"Thanks Bernard." She smiled graciously at his compliment. "Actually need a room."

"Let me guess, up on the third floor, near the back?" He smiled knowingly.

"How did you know I've always been partial to that part of your establishment?" she said mirroring his smile with one of her own.

"It's a barman's duty to know these things," he replied with that same grin and a tap of his bulbous red nose. "And wouldn't you know, I just happen to have a room." He leaned in and while the smile changed not a whit his eyes bore in. "Course, it be the room of a good friend of Hendak, so if I hear the need for it again, I'll have to move you out right quick."

"Course Bernard," she said with a nod, acknowledging the very plain warning. Not that she had any intention of annoying one of the Guild's allies at a time like this. "I completely understand."

The bartender smiled again and pulled a key from his apron and Sime matched the movement, plucking a small pouch of gold from an inside pocket. Tossing it to the bar, he did her the favor of not counting it in front of her, simply looking and giving it a quick weigh before handing the key.

It was nice to deal with professionals.

------

The room was more than adequate; of good size with a bed with fresh linen and new washbasin. The window wasn't much but it was heavily bolted and barred - from the inside. Good bit of security, one she'd improve for her stay. The wardrobe would also serve well, with plenty of room and easy to secure against prying eyes.

With the speed borne of years of training and few possessions, she stashed clothing, spare weapons and coin about the room, hiding it appropriately. A small but precious pouch was laid carefully in the wardrobe as was the accompanying clothes purse. Armor repair kit, spare quarrels and one extra set of tools went with it. The other found another good home under a floorboard and she set to trapping the window and the wardrobe while putting a simple alarm on the door. Bernard would not appreciate any of his staff being injured, and he was decidedly protective of them.

After a few minutes work, her temporary base was set up. And since she hadn't heard any footsteps on the stairs or movement in the hallway, she had time on her hands.

Potentially a whole lot of time.

She looked at the wardrobe, considering pulling out her notebooks and reviewing her notes. But that would mean sitting alone in this room. Looking around the room, at her secure little base, it felt more like a prison than a refuge. It felt too much like another secure hiding place in another Athkatla tavern.

Shivering, she cinched her sword belt tight and took a deep breath. Feeling darkness coming back up for her, she needed to counter it or she'd be of no use to herself, Aleria or the Guild. And that was unacceptable.

She needed the antidote, and thankfully it was right downstairs. She needed the swirl of music and dance, the sound of laughter and bickering, the smell of ale and food. A healthy dose of it would drain the poison of the morning from her blood.

She needed people, all of their fun and action.

She needed … life.

So, with a quick and professional check of her appearance, she headed back to the common room.

------

Even in midafternoon, the _Coronet's_ common room bustled. From the stairs, she spotted a bunch of dicing and card games mingling with friendly conversation, some egregiously drunken flirting, and from the look of two tables, a bit of business as well. It was why it was one of her favorite places to operate. You could find out so much, and if there wasn't much to find out, there was always a chance at a little coin.

It was packed with the action, the fun, the life she craved. She thanked Tymora and any other gods listening for Aleria and her companions settling on the _Coronet_. A place more fitting for a knight and hero of her stature wouldn't have left her many opportunities for entertainment. Shocking society ladies and reducing a couple of would be casanovas to crying wrecks really wouldn't substitute for real fun. Well, not for very long.

Scanning the room, she picked two tables to play her own version of Lady Tymora at. One definitely had the higher profit margin, but that dwarf Korgan was sitting at it. Unreliable, homicidal and rank were not high on her list of desirable qualities in a table. The second table looked more promising, a random gathering, a halfling, several humans and a half elf. Looked like a lively game of cards…

_Well, well, well…_

The smile was predatory. She knew it, she couldn't help it. She was honest enough with herself to know that she loved to gamble and that she hated to lose. Enough so that she'd learned little tricks to tilt Tymora in her favor. They required subtlety and skill. The thin, mustachioed blond man at that table also knew some of those tricks but he lacked the subtlety that a true master would possess.

Flaring the cards like that to mark them? Amateur.

Now, most people, when discovering a table was rigged would never sit down. But, where was the fun in that? If one was going to give Tymora a little massage, give her a squeeze, well, who better than against someone already doing it? Especially when you had someone to foist the blame on while you counted your winnings.

This was going to be _fun_.

Sweeping her hair back and smiling her most friendly smile, she sauntered over to the table. She wielded her smile like the weapon it was, relying on her training and attractiveness to disarm the males around the table while not being threatening to the tall brunette. It was an old trick, one Jocana drilled into her from her earliest days. Turning eventually to the Halfling, who seemed to be the de facto 'leader' of the table, she asked plainly without any of the sweetness or false sincerity that would give her away to her prey, "My companions haven't come back. Mind if I join you for a few hands?"

The Halfling, handsome for his short race, raked his hands through his hair, smoothing the mass of curls. "I've got no objections to another player. Anyone else?"

The cheater narrowed his eyes at her, trying to see if he was being played. Her defense held as the man only grumbled, "We've got a good table going Patrick. Not really sure I want to disrupt it."

"Tomas, you might be having a good run, but I've had better days. Another player might just change my luck for the better." He laughed good-naturedly. "And if not, at least Tymora will have someone else to pick on." Patrick waved to an open seat. "I am Patrick and this sourpuss is Tomas." He waved to the others in turn. "That is Rodrick, Jaila, Korren and the pointy ear is Venturi." The blond half elf gave him a stern if friendly glare. "Unfortunately, my Lady is busy so will not be joining us. However, another beauty will at least liven up the table."

She smiled at the genteel introductions, amused by the company's obvious camaraderie and the position of Tomas as outsider. This could make the game easier or harder, depending on the others. A game that already had begun with Patrick's very friendly and polite introductions. "Sime. And a pleasure to meet you."

She extended her hand to the Halfling and to her surprise, he didn't shake it but bent his head over it and kissed her hand. Coloring slightly despite herself, she laughed inwardly. It seemed knights and the nobility surrounded her on every side. Patrick smiled and winked at her. "Well, the pleasure is mine as well." The cards started to fly around. "Now, can I get you something to drink? Wine perhaps?"

She met his smile and twinkling eyes with a teasing half grin of her own. It seemed the Halfling was going to play the Game alongside the game. Which was fine with her, especially since he seemed willing to buy the wine. "Well, I suppose one drink wouldn't hurt," she said, using her 'not a complete innocent, but not exactly completely worldly' voice.

"Of course not," Patrick said with a wide smile. Jiala snorted softly to her left, pitched enough so she could hear the brunette's eyes rolling. The Halfling waved Anka, one of the serving maids over and quickly ordered another pitcher of wine and an extra glass along with some bread and cheese.

"Can we play cards now?" Tomas asked, nearly petulantly.

"But of course," Patrick announced with a good natured laugh. He turned to Sime. "Do you know how to play Corsairs?"

She smiled, drawing back her true smile by a half. Did she know Corsairs? The game had been _invented_ by her countrymen and she'd long ago mastered it. "I've played it a few times."

"Good. Because Tomas here is a bloody master at it."

"Just a good run of luck, Patrick."

"Definitely," Patrick said with a laugh.

As the cards flew around the table, she watched Tomas. His slight of hand wasn't bad, managing to redirect cards as needed. As she swept up her cards, feeling the telltale notches of a well marked deck, she smiled. That run of luck was about to end, and end badly.

She played coy for the first few rounds, and so did Tomas, either just being cagey or trying to not scare off a new mark. The hands seemed to play out fairly, even though it was obvious he was giving them a little spin. She took down a pot by seeming luck and Patrick won two himself, the Halfling insisting on toasting her as his personal Tymora. She couldn't help but laugh with him, toasting him back. She was already starting to rather like the boisterous Halfling, his good-natured humor infectious.

As the cards spun and lady Tymora danced, she also got to know a little of Patrick's friends. He definitely dominated the table and the conversation, but that very dominance allowed her to get solid reads on the others. Rodrick was fun loving but short tempered, a tall, brawny blonde with a badly broken nose with a dirty sense of humor and a fighter's mien. Korren sat to his left, the small, slender man resplendent in his rich blue robes silently enjoying the proceedings like a well loved younger brother. Jiana, the tall, broad shouldered Tormtar priest, played at only tolerating the game but the light in her ice blue eyes showed she was having more fun than she thought proper so she had to scowl. The last of Patrick's companions, Venturi, was nearly inscrutable, excepting when Patrick teased him. She could real vast intellect and a deep affection for the jokester Halfling but everything else stayed a mystery. Her few attempts at small talk were met with bland pleasantry, so she refocused on the smiling, boisterous Patrick.

Of course, the first few rounds were worth more than just getting to know the table and its players. She was also reading Tomas's scheme and picking out which cards were marked. After the seventh round, where the _luck_ started to turn back to Tomas, she'd figured it out the whole scheme. Overall, it was one of the classic schemes, a simple mark and read with hand rebalancing as necessary. He knew the marked cards, could assess the hands and when he dealt allocating them to best manipulate the hands. Made it easy to redirect, and she started by 'abusing' her cards.

She tapped them, fanned them and bent them. Patrick even gave him perfect cover with his good cheer and near constant friendly flirting. She flirted back like the young and relatively inexperienced woman she was supposed to be, laughing at his jokes, telling a few of her own and toasting him and his comrades.

Midway through the tenth hand, she found out she was actually having fun. Patrick was a great storyteller and jokester and a heck of a conversationalist. She'd pay, not much mind you, but a few golders, to watch Patrick and Gaelan cross swords on the fields of stories. The only difference was that Patrick really liked making people laugh, and as she snickered over a story about a very unfortunate gnome, a love potion and two orc lasses, she came to a decision.

She'd planned on draining off a good bit of coin at the table. For the entertainment and the laughs, she was going to return most of the lost coin to the original players. A slightly more difficult thing to do, but for the wine and giggles, Patrick and his friends deserved it.

The first hand she flipped was a matter of simple slight of hand, working a good hand into Venturi's hand with a few of the unmarked cards while making sure Tomas had one of those decent hands. He went for it, and the tall, blonde elf took down the pot. Tomas glared at it, but wisely said nothing. Unless you cheated blatantly, those sort of hands happened. _And you don't want to lose this table yet, do you, you sly bastard?_

Next few hands were standstills, unremarkable for anything other than Patrick's stories and Rodrick's braying laugh. Nothing major happened, just a slow bleed from Tomas's pile. Then, Lady Tymora took a strong dislike to Tomas, with Rodrick, then Patrick and then even the stern Jiala, who actually giggled, taking down big pots. She grinned behind her cards as Tomas started to look concerned. The signs were slight, just a little tightness around the mouth and eyes to signify his shock. Of course, the others likely read it as just concern over his sudden change of fortunes.

The deal going to Patrick, the Halfling laughed, "Well Tomas, it does seem that Lady Tymora's balancing the scales a bit, yes?"

Tomas grunted. "She is a fickle mistress."

"There's why there are other names for the Lady of Luck," Venturi said with a grin, precisely tapping his cards against the table.

Sime laughed, Tomas frowned and the cards spun. She let Tomas take a pot to feel better, then she grabbed one and then Patrick. The next went to Tomas, that one a legitimate pull, proving that Tymora really was a bitch at times. But it'd also keep him at the table.

As the hands went on, she started ratcheting up the pressure, remarking the cards and pulling some slight of hand that her teachers would have been proud of. She siphoned off a few seeming unrelated cards, sliding them into her bracer to prepare for the final hand, the one that'd crack Tomas and drive the poor cheater out.

Finally, after pulling another pot, the deal ended up to her. Tomas's pile was badly battered while the others piles were rapidly expanding. She even had a little profit from the venture. All around the table the others were smiling and laughing with the particular relief of people whose losses were flowing back. But Tomas was looking downright cranky. His face was flushed and he'd glared at the cards a number of times. Enough that Venturi and Patrick had both noticed that something was at least… off.

Time to put the dagger square in the lanky haired bastard's back. The antes went in and she baited Patrick and Rodrick into a punning contest, a decent cover for her next move. She dealt, redirecting the cards like a true master. She dropped a Tankard's Rail into Tomas's hand, one of the best hands in the game. Venturi got a strong hand but Rodrick, Jiala, and Korren all got poor, easy to fold hands. She gave herself decent hand out of habit. But Patrick, she gave a true gift, the perfect set up for a Sea King's Council, the best hand in the game. And with the cards remarked, it would just look like he only had a Knave's Cove.

Now she just needed Patrick to play it smart.

Thankfully the jokester did just that. He may not have been the best card player, but at least he knew how to gamble. A good solid open, nothing to scare off the fishes, but to make sure that coin would drag in. She smiled proprietarily as Tomas matched and raised. Rodrick folded, Venturi matched and Jiala and Korren limped out. She stayed in, feeling the need to keep up the dance.

With the hand called, she asked, "Cards gentlemen?"

"Just one, Sime," Patrick said with a smile. "Preferably a lucky one."

"I'll do my best," she said with a smile. She slid the top card of the deck, sliding it across the worn table. It glided perfectly, landing next to his hand. She watched Tomas's eyes flick to the left corner, confirming the mark as a Seven of Stones. Course, she'd changed the mark. The card was actually the King of Golds, the last card Patrick needed. She turned her attention to Tomas and smiled sweetly before he could look at Patrick's face. "And you Tomas?"

"Just fine," he said, looking confident again. She almost considered feeling bad for him.

"Venturi?"

"Two for me."

She slid him two cards, breaking up his potential Rail. She announced her attention of two for herself. She pulled a Maid's Flush, a good hand, but nothing compared to what she'd laid out. She leaned back in her chair and grinned like Tymora had come down to personally rub her shoulders.

This was going to be so much _fun_.

Patrick caught her grin and chuckled. "You know Sime, I think part of the game involves bluffing. Just so you know."

"Really?" she laughed, grabbing her wine cup and seeming to take a long pull. "Course," she continued with practiced 'tipsy' hauteur, "I was just thinking about that tale you told about the two gnomes and the gryphon catapult."

Chuckles burst out around the table, even from Tomas, who must have been feeling quite confident. Rodrick snorted, "Well, you know gnomes and gryphons."

"I never did understand that," Jiala replied with a chuckle.

"One of Toril's great mysteries," Patrick chuckled. Then with a grin of his own, tossed a rather prodigious amount of gold into the pile. "You'd think the gryphons would eventually learn!"

She caught Tomas's arched eyebrow and the tiniest, fleeting grin. The bastard thought he was finally going to recoup his losses and was likely planning out the 'wind down' hands. He tapped the table and finally pushed in coins from his shrinking pile. "Some things never learn," he said. "And I'll raise you twenty."

Venturi simply dropped his hand without a word.

The bet came to her and she looked at the large pile. She looked at her cards and then at the pile. The betting had gone up a little higher than she'd expected and she started considering whether she really wanted to keep the bluff up. It would wipe out almost her profit but it would help sell her as an 'innocent' if she matched the bet.

Oh well, it was only coin. Coin could be gotten anywhere. She picked up the right amount of coin and tossed it in. "I'll match that," she said with a confident grin.

Patrick looked at the pile, at his own and then at the rest of collected coin in both his piles and Tomas's. "Well, in for a copper in for a crown," he said with a grin and shoved the rest of his coin into the pile.

She couldn't quite control her eyebrow raise, and from the gasps and exclamations from around the table, neither could the others. The only one looking at all calm was Tomas. He simply looked at the coin. "I can't quite match…"

"Side pot then."

"I'm in."

Both turned towards her. Time to put on a performance. She sucked her teeth and looked at her cards and at the pile. She checked her coin pile and then the table again. She looked at both men then at her cards again. She let her face crumple as she sighed and sank into the chair as if Lady Tymora had suddenly got bored with her. Sighing, she tossed her cards to table. "I can't afford that."

"Well then… just you and me Tomas. What have you?"

Tomas grinned wide. "A Tankard's Rail… knave high," he said splaying out his cards and reaching for the pile.

"Good hand, but it doesn't beat the Council." He flared his hand impressively.

Tomas blinked owlishly, staring at the cards. He looked at his, then at Patrick's hand, staring at the cards. He snatched them up, even _checking the edges_. "How? That's… how?"

"I drew them. Why?" Patrick asked almost lightly, eyebrow arching.

He stared at the cards unblinkingly as Patrick started to gather in the coins. She simply sat back and looked puzzled as stares of puzzlement and suspicion started to focus on Tomas. He did nothing to help his cause, too amateur and too stunned to realize what was going on. "But I had… and you had…"

"I had what?" Patrick's tone seemed light and cheerful, but there was no mirth in his smile.

"You had…" he looked up, his eyes locking onto Patrick's, the color draining out of his face.

The Halfling snatched a few of the cards out of his hands. He studied them, looking at the edges like Tomas had. It only took a few seconds for him to pick out the slight notching and patterning of the edges. There was no cheer in his voice now. "These cards are marked."

"What?" Tomas said, voice shaking. "Couldn't be. I lost! Someone else marked them!"

"Are you accusing me of marking them?" Patrick asked, a tone of menace creeping into his voice.

"No! Sime did it! She had to!" Tomas cried, pointing at her as he stumbled to his feet.

"Sime's the cheat?" Patrick said incredulously.

"Me?" She sputtered, staring back at him with wide eyes and open mouth. Even Gaelen would have been impressed with her portrayal of the shocked, wide-eyed innocent. "But I _lost_!"

One by one Patrick's companions climbed to their feet, Jiana's eyes flashing and Rodrick looking like a blonde haired thunderstorm. Patrick himself stared at the blonde man. "Considering how lucky you've been, I'm just going to bet you were the cheat."

"No! Not …" he looked around at the ring of stares. His courage snapped like an overdrawn bowstring and he leapt from his chair. He went streaking for the door, with Rodrick and the others hot on his heels.

Only Patrick remained.

He settled back into his chair, lifted his wine cup and gave her a measuring stare. She returned it, looking a bit befuddled, because it was obvious who the cheat was. One bushy eyebrow arched and he grinned. "Why do I get the feeling _two_ games were being played at this table, and Tomas lost both?"

"He did seem to come off poorly," she said, only allowing a hint of a smile.

"He did at that. And will be even worse if Rodrick catches him. Thankfully Korren and Venturi will keep him from doing too much damage." He chuckled and sipped at his wine. "It is funny however, that Tymora's attentions turned so powerfully once you sat down."

She smiled and lifted the empty pitcher, signaling for a refill. "Tymora sometimes favors me, but…" She nodded to the vast pile of coin in front of him. "She seems to favor you even more."

He grinned. "That she does. That she does. And I wonder why?"

"Tymora is known to favor those who tell good stories and make people laugh."

He nodded and lifted his goblet, smiling. "Well, I shall have to thank her then."

"I think you could call it even… for services rendered and all that."

"Oh?"

"Well, you did reveal that terrible cheater," she laughed. Tomas had been a poor cardsharp.

"I suppose I did," he laughed back, smiling. "You are… quite the woman, Sime."

"Is that so?" another voice asked, words tight and clipped. Both turned to face a Halfling woman with broad shoulders, a stern but pretty face, and a massive shock of red hair. Fine mail peeked out from under the sleeves of her tunic and a rather impressive short sword hung at her belt. The look she was giving Patrick was… rather proprietary.

She suppressed a shiver. This woman obviously was not one to be trifled with, no matter her size. In fact, her size might make her even more dangerous and her movements spoke of skill with that short sword. In a way, she looked like a smaller, more concentrated version of Aleria and just as dangerous to cross. She started to consider ways of escape and hoped the woman would not take their laughter the wrong way.

Patrick however, seemed completely at ease. "Indeed she is, Love. If it weren't for her, I would have lost terribly at cards. I would be completely broke, forced to sing for my supper."

The redhead snorted and a smile cracked that fierce countenance. "Well, she must be then, considering your card playing skills." She smiled at her and stuck out her hand. "I am Mazzy Fentan, Truesword of Avoreen."

"Sime," she answered with a smile, smoothing over her initial concern. From the looks they gave each other, it seemed she was playing a little part in a lovers' game.

"Well, it seems then I owe you my gratitude. Patrick is a fine man but a horrible card player," Mazzy smiled while Patrick groused loudly and indignantly. "So thank you for saving him from himself."

"It was my pleasure, Mazzy," she said, smiling and laughing. "He's quite the storyteller."

"Did he tell you the one about the catapults and the gryphon?"

"Yes he did."

Mazzy laughed. "Complete fabrication. He's very unreliable, you see."

"I am completely reliable," Patrick said with faux indignation. "Just because some women cannot appreciate a little exaggeration…"

"A little?"

"Okay, perhaps a bit more than a little…"

Sime laughed, warmed by their loving bickering and both of them quickly joined in. Mazzy stopped first, looking at Patrick, "Where are the others? I left them with you."

"Oh, they're out distributing a little justice, Love."

"Ahh…" she looked at the table and he eyebrow arched. "I see. Well, we should go find them. We have a mission."

"A mission?" Patrick's eyes lit up with interest. Hers did as well.

"Yes. Apparently one of the outlying villages has suffered strange attacks. Imnesvale is the name, and they've put out a call for someone to come and investigate. I figured we've been in the city too long, a little fresh air would do us some good." She smiled brightly and poked Patrick in the stomach. "And a march or three would help with that as well."

"Do that again and see what happens," he said, eyebrows arching threateningly.

"Behave yourself," Mazzy admonished. And blushed.

"Never!" Patrick laughed. He pushed a few coins into the middle of the table to cover the bill and leave what had to be a generous tip. "I wonder… Sime?" he asked. "Care for a bit of adventure?"

She prided herself on rarely being caught flatfooted, but the curly haired bastard managed it. She stared at both of them, her mouth hanging open like a fool. Snapping her jaw shut by reflex, she tried to order her suddenly jumbled thoughts. People, some of them her friends, were dying, were dead. The Guild was facing vampires, deep enough in it they now needed paladins to save them. Add in for extra special fun, one mad bitch Yzabel to the foul mix. And now, all that churning in her belly, here comes these two, Patrick and Mazzy. Yes, there'd been a short, questioning look from Mazzy to Patrick, but that look only emphasized the offer was on the level. Taking them up on it, following them would give her a way out of the city. A chance to escape before some horror ripped her throat out or some nut gutted her. She could disappear and have real, honest to the gods adventures, the kind of excitement that filled all of Jocana's stories. Get fabulously wealthy on the road, be a story instead of just listening to them.

Tymora it was tempting. Aleria and her friends could handle this. She didn't need to do this. She could escape.

Mook's face floated up into her mind. Mook, lying dying on the cobbles. Sareena bleeding out in a dirty dank cave. Her friends in the Guild. Her family. If she ran now, she'd abandon them; have to leave them for good, never coming back. Yes, it was terrifying, but they needed her. They trusted her. Aran Linvail had trusted her with defending the Guild.

She couldn't betray that trust. They'd shown her loyalty, took care of her, raised her. If she abandoned them, abandoned Mook…

Responsibility was a gods cursed thing.

_Plus,_ said a little voice in her head. _It's OUTSIDE. Mud and dirt and filth and no hot water for leagues. Are you willing to abandon regular bathing just because of a couple of scary dead chicks with bad fashion sense?_

In the end, the decision wasn't that hard. "Thanks for the offer, but the great outdoors and I have an arrangement. It stays outside the walls and I leave it alone."

"I understand," Patrick said with a grin. "But if you do change your mind, we'll be gathering at the Mithrest."

"And if you want another hand or two of cards, I'll be right here."

"I think I pressed my luck enough this time around, but when I get back… you're on," Patrick said with a bright laugh.

"I do hope this job pays well," Mazzy sighed dramatically. "I can barely afford to cover your losses now."

"Oh ye of little faith!" Patrick teased, provoking the 'stern' looking Mazzy into laughing long enough to claim her arm. s He smiled broadly at her and Mazzy slid into next to him in that way of comfortable couples. "Thank you for the company."

"And thank you for keeping this rascal out of trouble," Mazzy added, ignoring Patrick's dramatic sigh.

"My pleasure," she smiled. "Tymora smile on all of you."

"And Avoreen on you, Sime."

With a last smile and handclasp, they headed for the door, the crowd quickly swallowed them up until even their laughter faded into the din. Chuckling, she availed herself of her newly refreshed pitcher and wished them the best.

------

Finally, after a half carafe of wine and a fresh loaf of sesame bread, Aleria and her company arrived back at the _Coronet_, looking a little worse for wear. Mud and a few less indentifiable things stained clothes and armor, with Sir Delryn seeming to have taken the worst of it. Based on the smug smiles both Yoshimo and Kelsey were flashing at the Helmite's back when he wasn't looking, she had a pretty good idea what those other stains likely were.

Sauntering over and leaning against one of the many support pillars, she sipped her wine and arched an eyebrow. "What happened to all of you?"

Aleria removed her helmet and raked her fingers through her hair. "We ran into some friends of an old friend. Apparently he took exception to us revealing him as the filth he was."

"He is no better than an otyugh," grumbled the Helmite as he gingerly rotated his left shoulder. "No matter what his birth."

"Otyughs serve a valuable role in the Balance," Jaheira said, lips thin. "Do not insult them by comparing them to him." She turned her attention to the Helmite. "And you should let me look at that shoulder."

"Lady Jaheira, it is fine. The fracas was not worthy of us, nor the injury deserving of a healer's touch," Sir Delryn… -Anomen-, replied, face flushing. "It is merely a sprain. Some rest will be more than sufficient."

"And perhaps a hot bath, young samurai?" Yoshimo added. "It is known to ease aching muscles."

"And might even help with the stench," Kelsey chimed in with a grin.

The priest glared balefully at them both. "Yes, a bath might be called for as well. That and my armor needing servicing, if you will excuse me, my Lady?"

"Of course, Anomen," Aleria said with a smile and a nod. "In fact, you are all released until dinner. I suggest baths for all, at the start."

There were a few chuckles and nods, with Sir Keldorn nodding and taking his leave while the others dispersed. Jaheira, notably, stayed by Aleria's side while the men headed for the upper apartments. Watching Anomen lead the way, she smiled inwardly. There would be an excellent opportunity to discharge her debt. Might even take that frown off his face for a while.

"Curious as to what happened?" Aleria asked, catching her studying the priest.

She snapped her head around. "Something obviously did. Sir Delryn looks even crankier than usual."

Jaheira snorted and Aleria smiled slightly. "We were ambushed by some the business partners of a certain former officer and noble, one Isaea Roenall."

"That scum?" Even years of practice at controlling her facial expressions couldn't keep the sneer off her face.

"Indeed. They were not very good, but one of them managed a lucky blow. Anomen was caught off balance and landed very badly on his shield arm." There was a slight hint of an almost wicked smile on the knight's face. The curl of Jaheira's lips was far more telling.

"It wasn't just how he landed, was it."

"No. He landed in …" Aleria paused, the smile becoming more pronounced. "An overflowing cesspit."

"Mook always said, better pissed off than on." She chuckled. "Looked like he proved her point."

"Indeed. But please, leave him be. He is rather… sensitive about such things."

"Overly much, if you ask me," Jaheira remarked pointedly.

"Pride is pride, Jaheira. We all have it, it's just how it manifests." Aleria shrugged, then turned her attention back to her. The humor slipped away as she studied her. "I take it your employer has more tasks in store for us?"

"Yes," she said, suddenly missing the friendly atmosphere of a few moments ago. But work was work, and knights were rather notorious about such things. "There are some things we should discuss. In private."

"Of course. Will you join us for dinner? We have a private room upstairs and Bernard keeps it quiet."

"I will see you then," she said, wondering exactly how quiet it would be from Bernard's ears.

As Aleria and Jaheira headed for the stairs, she plotted her next move. She had time and a heck of an opportunity. Shame to waste it, and better to have it over and done with. So, draining the last of the pitcher to fortify herself, she headed upstairs herself.


	12. Chapter 12 Best Laid Plans

_Author's Note: After a bit of a hiatus, a few more chapters now roll your way. Hope you enjoy them._

**Chapter 12 - Best Laid Plans**

The troublesome thing about her debt to Anomen Delryn was that she'd offered a marker with no set value. As foolish as the act had been, and there was no doubt it was at the best insane, it was done. He'd accepted it and given her something she valued almost as dear as her own life; Mook's life. So, now he was in a place to demand whatever he wanted from her, and she couldn't honorably turn down any request, baring the most ludicrous or disgusting. She'd sworn the debt, and she had never reneged and she wasn't going to start now. There were many things people could call her, but she still had her integrity and dignity.

After all, it was only flesh.

Now, she acknowledged that it was an assumption that he'd claim his repayment in trade. But it was reasonable. For the first, he was a man; and a prideful one. His pride had been dinged, and such men always found the attentions of a woman the perfect balm. And for the second… he was the son of Cor Delryn. The man was a letch of the highest, or perhaps lowest, order. The fruit rarely fell too far from the tree, and he seemed to have inherited his father's temper and arrogance, so it seemed a reasonable assumption that he'd share some of his father's proclivities.

Then there was the fact he was a priest. From the reports she'd read from the Guild's whoring operations, it seemed that Athkatla's priests spent as much time in a comfort bed as on their knees.

Well, other than the Sharessans. Bedsport for them _counted_ for time on their knees.

With all of that in mind, she knew it would be better to offer up payment before it was demanded. It would give her the best chance to set the terms, limit what could be asked. Not that she would refuse anything reasonable if he demanded it, she would not renege on her debt. And, he was at least handsome, almost pretty, if he could stop sneering long enough. But why pay more if she could avoid it?

That was why now was the perfect time. Aleria had given her companions a rest break before the evening meal and its planning session. Her debtor was in need of both body and pride healed and she'd learned those arts alongside her letters. That gave her the opportunity. The limited time frame meant that she would likely be able to avoid anything too onerous, especially considering her read of him indicated he was both discrete and punctual. He'd not want to be caught abed when there were great deeds to be talked of.

She grinned. She loved it when a plan started to come together, weaving the intricacies and the dependencies into a coherent whole. The joy was still there even when the heart of the mission was not one she particularly relished.

With time of the essence and preparation time highly limited, she'd already made the first moves of her plan. As Aleria and her companions disappeared up the stairs, she stopped at the bar to acquire those sundries that might prove key to implementing her newly borne plan. A girl had to be prepared and in this situation, and honey and chocolate were more use than a slender blade. Gathering them into a small satchel and pointedly ignoring Bernard's smile, she headed up the stairs with as much dignity as haste allowed.

Returning to her room, she closed the door behind her and tossed open the wardrobe. She scanned her set out clothing, pondering what would work well for this particular little operation. Even as she looked over the neat piles, she disarmed, removing swordbelt, crossbow and bolts, hanging them neatly with her armor soon following. All of that needed a little maintenance, but that'd wait. She paused for a moment. He was a Helmite, he might be into mutual armor and weapon polishing. She grimaced. _Let's just … not go there._

Brushing her fingers over the small folded piles, she smiled as the haughty instructions of Jocana echoed in her head.

_Child, despite their behavior and their grooming, men are not the simple beasts they appear. Yes, they lust for us, it is their curse. But surrendering to their lust is no Art, it brings no power. Any woman can do that, and once you are just that, you will be used up and tossed away once they have a new pretty bauble. Look around, child, and see the truth in all these women's faces. If you wish to avoid that fate, you must learn the Art, how to ensnare not just his lusts but his mind and heart. The nude body is but a crude tool, and relying on it a sign of weakness. So use your eyes, your ears and your mind, child. Learn what he wants and then, through the Art transform yourself from woman to the vision of his love. And then, my sweet child, you will be able to spool him around your fingers more easily than the finest silks._

Taking that to heart, she had to reject most of what she'd brought. The Helmite… no, Anomen, for it would do little to help her to still think of him as just the Helmite, really did hew to the dressings of the ballads and stories of the courtly. Even with his family's foul blood in his veins, he still dedicated himself to that thread of the story. So, she had to play the right part in that story. Which meant that her black silk robe and her favorite dark green silks would be out of place, no matter how amazing she looked in them. She needed something alluring yet wholesome, something that hinted at intent without bludgeoning his fool, thick head with it.

Pushing aside a spare shirt, she smiled, finding just the right thing. Tymora really did have a thing for her, because while she'd just grabbed at random about the only thing in her wardrobe that would work was right there at the bottom. A nice combination too. A simple front lacing white linen blouse, peasant cut without being ridiculously so. It paired with a green overdress that came around the shoulders and cinched into a simple corset. She'd worn a dress like this while working the Coronet, the combination of somewhat low cut blouse and corsetry even giving her the illusion of actually possessing something someone might mistake for a bosom. Definitely worked because the tips had been very generous. Not even counting the extra coin she'd helped herself to.

With the speed any actor would envy, she pulled on blouse and dress. Standing in front of the mirror, she loosely tied the blouse while cinching the corset of the dress tight.

With time being of the essence, pulled the long pins holding her hair in place in rapid succession. It would have been nice to have it tumble down her shoulders like in a story, but considering it'd been wrapped in a towel and slept on, she took not shooting off in twenty different directions as a victory. Jaw set, she grabbed her ivory comb and attacked the snarls with reckless abandon. It took a few minutes of hard work and an array of curses only a dockhand could love, but she got it lying flat and even. Not perfect, but good enough.

A few last details had to be attended to. First, she applied a thin line of kohl around the eyes, just a little to enhance the contrast and help draw away from the tired lines beneath them. A light application of rouge across the cheeks and a soft red lip paint. Nothing too much, nothing too striking, more noblewoman than woman of the night. That would work much better with the status obsessed priest. The last touch was a little sandalwood essence behind the ears and across the neck.

She stepped back and checked herself in the mirror. Good, but not her best work. Still, she managed to pull smashing with her limited supplies and time. Helped to have good teachers and well, good features.

Smoothing her dress one last time, she smiled and nodded. Time to go.

For such a powerful adventuring group, their security precautions left a good bit of room for improvement. She'd seen the wards on the entrance to the hall and she imagined the windows had been as well. However, that seemed to be the extent, no one standing watch, no secondary wards or locks. High marks for them on the main gate, but the secondary security was little better than a joke.

An excellent case in point was the lock and ward on Anomen's door. The lock was good, but any truly skilled artist, like herself, could easily bypass that. The ward was a simple divine mark, suitable enough she supposed for a barracks hall or the like but not for an inn. What surprised her was the lack of magical wards. Then again, considering the strain between Anomen and Kelsey, perhaps that wasn't that much of a surprise.

Once inside, she took a careful look around his room. Her first impression was that of intense, aggressive order. Everything was neatly laid out, perfectly accessible and convenient, but every object -just- so, with right angles abounding. His armor hung on an impromptu rig, gleaming in the low light. His weapons lay on the bureau in perfect lines and his clothes in perfectly dressed and folded piles. She'd never quite seen the like, and deep down she longed to just toss everything in a giant pile and dance a naked jig atop it.

Of course, as satisfying as that might be to herself and the universe, it wouldn't make Anomen happy, and that was the object of this particular exercise.

Still, looking around this room only further cemented her belief that he was definitely a man in dire need of a little chaos in his life. One only had to look at the perfectly squared lines of his parchments and quills to see that. From all appearances, his life was like oatmeal, thick and wholesome but painfully bland. It needed flavor, a touch of cinnamon and sugar to brighten up the dull and dreary dish. She'd make for the perfect cook, spicing the dish just right.

She walked to his mirror and checked herself over one last time, just like on any other job. Almost perfect. A quick cinch of the corset, a gentle loosening of the blouse… there, that looked about right. She tested out her bedroom smile, cocking her hip to the side and teasing a few locks forward over her right eye. Perfect.

After setting out a simple tea pot, lighting the burner and setting out some chocolate on an end table, she sauntered over to Sir Anomen's bed, and draped herself across it just as she'd been taught. Smiling to herself, she made a quick adjustment of her hair to make it more the gauziest of veils and tugged up her blouse to put back something that tried to escape and she was perfect. Except… the bed was just too well made. You could bounce a copper off it, and military efficiency and seduction were not good bedmates.

Not hearing footsteps, she hopped up onto her knees and tugged the blanket and sheet loose. Giving it a good rumple, she grinned. Much better. A strike for fun against Mr Shinypants overly aggressive order. Seriously, who wanted to see a sultry woman lounging on perfectly dressed sheets? It just did not work. A little rumpled sheets and a little rumpled Sime. Much better combination.

After that, it was only a matter of waiting. For a woman used to waiting in the pitch black in some cramped space, trying desperately to avoid having lots of sharp, pointy metal objects shoved into her, stretched out on a rather comfortable mattress was easy time. Especially considering the wait was short. It was only a few minutes after she arrived before she heard footsteps outside the door and a key in the lock.

The door swung open on and Sir Anomen blithely walked in. He actually struck a rather handsome figure in breeches and a loose shirt, his hair still wet and only finger combed. This broad chested, slightly disheveled man was a decided improvement over the over armored and well coiffed priest. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

Putting on her most winsome smile, she watched with mild amusement as he closed the door and draped his towel over the door hook before he even noticed the beautiful woman on his bed. It was almost insulting, and would have been except for the humor of one of the Vigilant-Pain-in-the-Arse-One's own missing something right in front of him. Especially something like her.

His reaction more than made up for it. When he did finally did deign to notice her, he near leaped out of his breeches. He managed to strangle a yelp, and she'd be an arm it was a yelp, as his eyes went wide and his back ramrod straight. Flushing, likely in a mixture of surprise and shock, he stammered, "Miss Sime? What? How did you get into my room?"

Mook always said stupid questions deserve snappy answers. So, she simply tilted her head at him and fired off a severe eyebrow arch.

"But the door was locked and warded," he said, pointing back at the door and voice betraying crippling surprise.

Her eyebrow arched even more severely.

He opened his mouth to speak and closed it again with an audible snap. Cocking his head to the side, she watched him run through the scenario. His was a very open face when it wasn't cloaked in a sneer or a frown. Surprise gave way to reason, anger to grudging respect. He could learn. Finally, he said, "You are far more skilled than I expected or my wards are far weaker than I imagined."

Nothing wrong selling one's self up. "The wards were very good, Sir Anomen," she said, putting the slightest purr into her voice as she said his name.

"Indeed," he replied, the frown darkening his face telegraphing his displeasure. She watched his eyes play across the room, looking to see if anything was out of place or missing. She had to ruthlessly suppress a flare of anger. As if she would still be in his room, laid out on his bed like this if she intended to rob him. She was a skilled enough actress that when he finally returned his attention to her, her smile was firmly in place. "So the question is, Miss Sime, why are you in my room?"

"Sime," she corrected with a smile.

"As you wish," he said with a polite, almost courtly nod. "That still does not answer my question of what you are doing in my room and on my bed."

She blinked inwardly. He asked that question without any irony or even a hint of a jest. Rolling more fully onto her side and propping herself up further on her elbow to tantalize his eyes, she replied, pitching her voice a touch smoky and low. "You did a very kind and wonderful thing for me. I wanted to show my appreciation."

Another quick, curt nod. "Your companion, Mook. I trust she is recovering?"

"Our healers say she will make a full recovery thanks to your very kind and generous help," she replied, pitching her voice to emphasize her gratitude. As she did, she straightened her right arm, pushing herself more onto her hip. She extended her left leg and curled the right behind her, letting the fabric set off her leg.

"I am glad that my lord Helm saw fit to help her," Anomen replied with courtly formality. His eyes had never once left her face. She knew exactly how attractive she must look, her leg outlined and a generous amount of what cleavage she had on display. And he'd not even spared her a look. Either he was dense or more rigidly controlled than she thought. "And I thank you for taking the opportunity to inform me," he continued. "But I have to admit questioning your motives for thanking me thusly."

She laughed lightly, trying to cut through his stern demeanor. "You almost sound as if you are accusing me of some ill intent."

It was his turn to arch an eyebrow as he clasped his hands behind his back.

Oh, he was definitely proving a challenge. Fine. She had plenty of cards up her sleeves, even while she still -had- sleeves. Keeping her eyes on him and her smile warm and inviting, she made her next move. There was an art to getting into and out of a bed, and she used it ruthlessly. She swung herself out of the bed, kicking her legs out smoothly so her dress pulled tight around them, showing them off to best effect while avoiding tripping her. Smoothing her dress back out, she sauntered towards him. "I assure you, Sir Anomen, I mean you no harm."

"Madame Sime, I am not entirely sure of that," he said, slipping into a more courtly form as a hint of color threatened his cheeks.

She smiled broadly and held her arms out to the sides, her palms open and out. "I am no danger, as you can see I am unarmed."

"Indeed, so it seems," he said quickly. He hadn't even bothered to look. _Interesting._

Seeing an opening, she grinned a little wider, and sauntered closer while keeping her arms out. "Of course, if you are still concerned, you can feel free to check me more… _thoroughly_… for weapons."

"No, no, I believe I can take your word on that," Sir Anomen replied hastily, a blush starting to color his face.

"I thought priests of Helm were supposed to always be vigilant," she said, letting smoke pour through her voice as she closed the distance between them. "Doesn't that include checking a potential threat thoroughly?" She shifted her shoulders enough to let the bodice of her shirt slide a little more open. "After all you've done for me, I'd hate to get you in trouble."

"Ahh, but you said you were unarmed and meant me no harm," he said hurriedly, eyes firmly fixed ahead. "I am taking you at your word."

She grinned crookedly. "You know, there's an old saying I grew up with, Anomen. Trust… but verify. Are you sure you don't want to do a thorough search? You know how we can be, very sneaky and dangerous. I could have weapons secreted all -over- me."

He swallowed hard, body rigid and eyes still refusing to look down, even though she was barely a handsbreadth away from him. She smiled up at, studying his face, studying him. He really was handsome, even more so right now and smelled deliciously of soap and leather. This really could be quite pleasurable.

"No… no I think that will be quite alright, Madame Sime," he managed to stammer out. "We are working together now and it would be the height of rudeness to disbelieve a comrade in arms," he said hurriedly, smiling as if he had found a loophole.

"Oh, I don't think that at all. I think it might help us form a much _deeper_ bond." She reached out, taking one of his well calloused hands in hers. He nearly leaped out of his skin at her touch, nearly yanking her off her feet as he leapt backwards.

"I think perhaps you should leave." He spoke so quickly the words almost tripped over each other as they rushed to escape.

She let his hand go and stepped back. Anomen was beet red, his eyes wide. Had she completely misread him? That it wasn't standoffishness but something… else? "Anomen," she said, pulling the smoke out of her tone. "I did not mean to make you uncomfortable. That is not at _all_ my intent." She smiled genuinely, dropping all artifice. "You saved Mook when you didn't have to and didn't want to. I owe you a tremendous debt. One I was hoping to repay."

He shook his head in surprise. "I see no debt needing to be repaid. And even if there was one, this seems a strange way to repay it."

She blinked as if she'd been slapped. "Strange way?" She stared at him and jerked her hair back. "It seems perfectly normal. In fact, the usual way such debts are settled, especially…"

"You consider this usual?" he said incredulously.

"Yes," she replied, eyebrows arched. "It is an ancient way to handle such debts. Now, I may not be the classic beauty, but I assure you I am _very_ good…"

"Sex? Between you and me?" he near thundered.

"Why else would I be dressed like this and in your bed?" she asked nearly as incredulously. "I would think that straightforward enough. I suppose I could have left off the dress, but I figured that would be a bit crass for you."

His whole body shook, and he dragged one hand through his hair. "You came here to seduce me? What madness is… why?"

"Because I assumed you would enjoy it?"

"What made you assume that?" he exclaimed.

"Because I thought you were interested in women?" she fired back quickly, voice rising despite her attempts to check her temper.

"What?" he blinked as his face flared bright red.

"I did not realize you weren't," she said, trying to placate him. "It was an honest mistake. I will leave you in peace, and I am sorry." She frowned. "You know, I do know someone you might like…"

"I do like women!" he thundered, taking a threatening step closer. Shaking his head incredulously, he demanded, "Why would you even state such a thing?"

"Well, you didn't…" she stopped, words cutting off. The realization hit her like a fist to the jaw. "You just don't find me attractive, is that it?" She straightened her corset and tugged her blouse closed with a violent tug. "Oh. Well then. I see." Her cheeks burned with embarrassment and anger. She was double the fool. There was no doubting the sincerity of his reply nor the firmness of his rejection. Bloody bastard he was. Not good enough for him, the sanctimonious little twit. Ducking her eyes as 'proper' lady, she curtseyed with deadly precision. "My mistake, my lord. I did not realize I was displeasing."

His face softened and he stepped back. The expression on his face was galling. Pity. He said hurriedly and placatingly. "Madame Sime, my apologies. I have been very rude to you. I did not know … you of course did not need to do such a thing, and it would be the height of impropriety to take advantage of your gratitude in such a way…"

"Your apologies are entirely unnecessary, Sir Anomen," she said, wielding the courtly manners she'd been trained in as a shield to her bloodied pride. "I made the mistake." _In thinking that you'd deign to be lower yourself for some former haremi street girl. I am no proper lady._

Sir Anomen swallowed hard and frowned. "It was simply a misunderstanding and my words were very harsh."

"No my Lord, they were honest. And if I had been, I could have saved us both this embarrassing situation. If you will excuse me."

Without another word, she turned on her heel and yanked the door open. Chin held high and back ramrod straight, she strode right out into the hallway. It would have been a dramatic moment, one sufficient to protect a few shreds of her dignity.

The key word being would. Because there was an unforeseen and unexpected obstacle to her dramatic exit. That obstacle was tall, redheaded and apparently built of solid oak. Or so it seemed when she smashed face first into her.

Bouncing off, it was only pure reflexes that kept her from tumbling to ground. Managing to get her feet under her, she blushed furiously and hurriedly smoothed and checked her outfit. Forest green eyes regarded her coolly and inquisitively.

"I heard a commotion," Aleria said, smoothing the front of her blouse. "Is everything alright?"

She did her best to hide her cringe. There was really no flattering way to lie her way out of this one. It was only a small mercy that she'd decided on a dress instead of one of her slinkier robes. Not that there would have been shame in sleeping with the Helmite, but being caught like this, the rejected joy girl, well, any respect for her abilities and skills would be dashed. And she wanted the knight to respect her.

"I am sorry," Sir Anomen replied hurriedly. She cringed inwardly, awaiting the pompous priest to fully repudiate her. "We were having a discussion of … how to deal with the current situation and it got rather heated."

One red eyebrow arched severely. "Really?"

"Yes," she said quickly, rushing to the strange olive branch Anomen had extended. Certain things needed to be explained, at least somewhat plausibly. "We ran into each other in the hall and decided to hold the discussion in private. Apparently… our methods are very different and … both of us have hot tempers." She smiled gamely.

"I see." Aleria shrugged. "Well, considering Linvail has more tasks for us before we get to Imoen, I am glad we are tackling those tasks. I await your analysis at dinner." She studied both of them inquisitively for a moment. "Until then."

Aleria walked off down the hallway and she turned on her heel to look at Anomen. Her jaw hung open in surprise. "You didn't need to do that."

"If we are to work together, there is no need for either of us to be thought a fool. It was… an unfortunate mistake." Anomen smiled gamely and shrugged. "It seemed the easiest way to deal with it."

She studied the priest incredulously. A Helmite priest thinking a lie the best solution. That…

Suddenly it made sense. Why he'd ridden to her rescue.

She hadn't been rejected out of hand.

She'd been rejected for Aleria.


	13. Chapter 13 Plans Within Plans

**Chapter 13 - Plans Within Plans**

If clothes made the woman, then a change of them could remake one. For instance, it could transform a foolish looking would-be-seductress into a competent woman of business. After the events of the last few minutes, she desperately need such a change. So the little bodice and skirt went into the wardrobe and boots, trousers and vest went back on. Shoving the seductress unceremoniously into the dark, she slid back into much more comforting clothing of the young and up-and-coming agent. Smoothing down the vest and buckling her belt, she even managed to smile. As embarrassing as that fiasco was, there was a small amount of relief in it to. Meant she was more Mook's girl than Jocana's.

That was peace to be found in that fact. As many people might want to kill her on Mook's side of the street, it wasn't nearly as dangerous as Jocana's world. Worse things than daggers stalked the walls of the harem. She'd seen the victims. The empty stares, the silence of women shattered beyond caring. At least if in service to the Guild, if she did end up with a dagger in the chest, she'd die being her own woman. Even the nastiest and bloodiest death in some dark alley would be better than the horrific unlife left to women like Yola or Andrina. Better to die than live like that.

She shivered, skin going cold at the dark turn of her thoughts. She shook her head violently, trying to clear it. Worlds and all be damned, she'd really rather not die at all. Life was addictive and by Tymora, she had a real bad case of it. So, to keep on getting her fix, it meant, at least for now, accomplishing the mission set out in front of her. She had a plan to do it. The problem was going to be selling it to a band of heroes. They'd demonstrated they weren't as thick as she thought they'd be, and were even capable being crafty, but this was… a little different.

Giving her appearance and defenses a final check in the mirror and finding both very satisfactory, she walked down the hall to the dining room. The door was open and most of Aleria's comrades were already gathered around the table. Aleria waved her to the sideboard as she settled down next to the Lord Corthala and Jaheira.

"A very elegant vest for a very elegant woman."

She half turned to find the Kara Turan bounty hunter standing behind her, studying her with a very _familiar_ intentness, hiding professional regard under very personal scrutiny. Clever bastard.

"Thank you," she said, twisting a little further at the waist to improve the view of the vest and how it hugged her. She might be more Mook's girl, but nowhere did it say that meant not using each and every weapon she had at her disposal. "The Guild has a few very talented clothiers and this one is very well tailored, don't you think?"

"Indeed, dear Sime," he said with a grin as he openly admired her chest. "I must compliment their skill, but clothing is nothing without it being worn properly."

She completed her turn, leaving her plate on the sideboard and leaning back in a way she knew was very distracting. "Very wise. It seems there is more to you than the first glance shows."

"As with you, dear Sime," he replied with a knowing grin. "I know exactly how dangerous one of Darkshadow's pupils are. You are the kind of snare that even the quickfooted must watch for. And the slow witted must be wary of." He looked up, smiling at her, eyes twinkling. "Although perhaps still a little untrained."

"Oh?" She kept her tone innocent but let her eyes harden. She was not in the mood to be teased about certain topics, and that smile was just a little too knowing.

"Indeed." He bowed slightly at the head. "For instance, the two daggers in your vest could be better hidden so that even Yoshimo could not see them. And if you would care to stop by my room after dinner, I would be happy to show you."

"You care to instruct me?" she replied, letting her eyes flash as she cocked a grin at him.

"It would be my honor."

"I see," she smiled a little more and leaned forward, letting him have a little better look. "But if you could only spot two daggers with all the time you spent studying my chest then I'm afraid that there is very little you can teach me." She patted him on the cheek as he snapped back. "But should you ever feel like further lessoning, I'm sure I could arrange it."

He was good, eyes flicking carefully and spotting at least two of the darts in the lining. He nodded graciously, even politely dragging his eyes from her breasts. "Yoshimo is at your service."

"Some wine then?"

"As you wish." He bowed, grinning, and went for the wine pitcher.

"And now that you two are quite done," grumped Jaheira. "And that Anomen has finally graced us with his presence, perhaps we could begin."

She looked up in time to see Sir Anomen flush. A flush that rapidly darkened as their eyes met. "My sincerest apologies. I got very involved in polishing my armor and I lost track of the time."

Yoshimo took that opportunity to hand her a goblet of wine, along with a very severely arched eyebrow and a teasing grin. Thankfully, she'd long ago learned to rein in her laughter, because the smugly grinning bounty hunter was definitely making it difficult not to.

"Well, the dinner is an informal one," Aleria interjected. "And as a wise man once taught me, there is time enough for planning after a meal. So, let us enjoy the efforts of Hendak's cooks and each other's company and then we can discuss what plans Sime has for us."

She studiously ignored the few looks that statement garnered and sat down at the far end of the dining table, earning Sir Keldorn and, of course, Yoshimo as her dining companions. Despite the odd company, the meal ended up being quite good. Hendak had thoroughly cleared out the kitchens as well, and must have found at least one decent cook because chicken was actually good and the vegetables had taste. And that taste was a good one, even more surprisingly.

The dinner's greatest surprise wasn't the food but instead the company. She was an outsider and had expected to be treated like that, no matter what charm she deployed, especially considering she was the Guild's representative. But instead of silence and distance, they were polite, in their varying degrees. Even friendly. Now, it was obvious that they were still guarded, that there was much that would not be said in her presence, but at least they were friendly about it.

She found herself laughing at some of their stories; such as a story of the infamous Jan Jansen and his experimentation with an improved crossbow and another absent companion, a warrior named… Minsc. The name sounded familiar and she made a mental note to look into him more deeply. The open atmosphere even encouraged her to share a nice and clean story about Mook and how she had to deal with Neverwinter captain with a very strong passion for lace.

As the conversation swirled away from her again, she leaned back in her chair and sipped at her wine. Even with her here, this was a tight group, one bound together with strong bonds. Again she found herself struck by the comradeship in a group, just like in Mazzy and Patrick's.

She even felt a few pangs of envy. Sure, she could sit around a table with a number of her colleagues, even play at camaraderie, but with many of her guildmates, she was simply an ally. These people, they were friends.

As she rolled that thought around her head, Aleria put down her fork. "Well, I think we can perhaps move on to the business of the evening." She inclined her head towards Kelsey. "If you could, Kelsey?"

"You got it boss," he said, reaching into one of the pockets of his robe. Something small and crystalline flashed from the depths of it and there was a muted flash and a certain odd _pressure_ around her temples. It faded quickly, and she simply shook her head.

"Now that we are safe from prying ears, I turn the floor to Sime. It appears that our… ally, Aran Linvail has more he requires of us before we can secure passage to Spellhold."

The amiable warmth around the table chilled like a desert night as seven sets of eyes turned on her. True, some of it was professional interest, but there was no escaping the edge in the comment. The worst of it was that was probably more polite than she would have been.

"Unfortunately, yes," she said, putting down her wine glass and squaring her shoulders. "First, the Shadowmaster would like to thank you for your efforts last night. And I would like to add my very personal thanks as well. I likely would not be here without your help, and Mook most certainly wouldn't." She smiled at the assembled adventures, trying to convey her gratitude while studiously ignoring the bright flush coloring Anomen's cheeks. Very studiously. "Now, you're all aware of the situation, my guild being caught in a bloody war, and one that is far worse than we originally thought. Not only are we dealing with defections and betrayal, we're also up against … vampires and gods know what else. For that reason, we need intelligence. If we can't fight back, even with your help, they'll slowly grind us to dust."

She took a deep breath, readying herself for the leap. "Last night, we finally got lucky on that front. We tracked down one of our… defectors. They were even kind enough to provide us with the time and place of a meeting of other defectors, lead by two relatively senior members of the Guild, Jaylos and Caehan."

"Voluntarily? How generous." Jaheira deadpanned, only the very slight arch of her eyebrow betraying her true thoughts.

"I'm sure they did it out of remorse and generosity of spirit, but I was not present for their conversion so I can only suppose," she riposted, keeping her tone just as level and flat as Jaheira's and her face a mask. Jaheira's eyebrow arched a little more. She'd scored a point.

"That aside," Aleria said quickly. "I assume that the Shadowmaster wishes us to provide a strike force after you get your intelligence?"

"Actually…" This was going to be the _interesting_ part. "No. We need your help in getting it. Specifically, yours and Jaheira's help."

"The mighty Shadow Thieves need us as spies?" Jaheira snorted.

She let Jaheira's incredulous outburst and Aleria's surprised eyebrows wash over her. "In this situation, yes. From our source, we know that those meeting Jaylos and Caehan are women, which limits our options. After the attack last night and… other events… very few of our people are above suspicion. And of those, all of those, especially women, are too senior or too obviously loyal that their appearance would automatically tip our hand that it is a setup. It's risky enough that I am going, to bring in any of the others…"

Aleria rubbed her brow for a moment. "So, due to possible treachery in your ranks, Jaheira and I are to play at being Shadow Thieves?"

"I considered just asking for Jaheira's assistance, but I would not want to be any more outnumbered than possible," she shrugged. "We know of at least three, not counting any friends Jaylos, Caehan or the opposition contact might bring. With both of you, we should have the edge in fighting strength."

"Perhaps, but I doubt anyone would believe either of us are members of your… organization," Aleria countered.

At this point she smiled. "No, I strongly doubt that. So, I've already been working out proper disguises and cover identities for both of you. You'll blend in like sand in the desert."

"That I find hard to believe." Aleria said flatly.

"Until you met me in Aran's chambers, had you ever seen me before?"

"No."

She smiled at the redheaded knight and arched an eyebrow expressively. There was silence in the room for almost a minute. It was Yoshimo that broke the silence. "The chambermaid. The serving girl. And the messenger," he quickly ticked off.

"Very good, Yoshimo."

She kept her eyes on Aleria and had the pleasure of watching realization dawn behind those emerald green eyes. "You were… you were the serving girl behind the bar. The night of the brawl!"

Some would say it was impossible to bow while seated. They obviously just hadn't learned the art. "And that was just what I can do. I have my organization's entire facilities at my disposal. In fact, I would wager that once we are done, you could walk up to your Prelate and kiss his bald head and he wouldn't even know who you are."

The reactions around the table were a glorious mixture of snickers, gasps, guffaws, coughs, and amused snorts. Aleria, more in the gasp category, but far less than the nearly apoplectic looking Anomen, colored slightly and arched an eyebrow. "I do not think that a necessary demonstration."

"I do think that the Prelate would agree with you," Sir Keldorn said, his amusement held firmly in check but the corner of his mouth betraying him with a slight upward turn.

"Although, it would be most interesting to see his reaction, would it not young samurai?" Yoshimo teased. "In fact, I would put thirty gold on the desert flower!"

"Unnecessary," coughed Anomen. "As Sir Keldorn says."

"Boasting aside," Jaheira interjected, words precise and firm, slicing through the amusement circling the table. "I assume there is more to this plan than the three of us traipsing into the meeting?"

She nodded, taking the interruption as an opportunity to return to the plan. "Yes. With so many unknowns, I am envisioning the rest of your companions as two separate backup teams. The Lord Corthala, Kelsey and my good friend Yoshimo," she flashed the Kara Turan her best harem smile, "Will comprise the first team, inside the common room of the Five Flagons. They will observe the parties, and if it seems like we're betrayed or seriously outnumbered, bail us out."

"I assume that myself and Anomen will be held in strategic reserve due to our… obviousness?" Sir Keldorn asked.

"You are correct, Sir Keldorn. You are too widely known and, if I may say, feared, by those in my business that your presence might spook our quarry. So, I would suggest that you and Sir Anomen take in the play at the playhouse, perhaps in the last row. At some prearranged signal, something I'm sure Kelsey can manage, you would ride to our rescue." She took a sip of wine. "And there is the added bonus that should the first team be spotted, we'll still have the both of you."

"There are a large number of moving parts to this plan," Jaheira said.

"And the Five Flagons has a great number of doors and accesses to monitor," Lord Corthala interjected.

"We'll need a good signal, something sonic, I figure," Kelsey said quickly.

The swirl of voices rose quickly, points and aspects of the plan being debated and dissected. She jumped into the debate feet first, listening to the suggestions and refinements and debating tactics and strategy. It was like any other planning session, other than the much diminished worry of getting stabbed in the back and thus the necessary cutouts to eliminate those possibilities. It made the debate more interesting and also a lot quicker.

Over the next quarter hour, her proposed plan was rehashed and even improved. The backup plans were improved, including stashing of some holy water in caches in each possible meeting place, a full signaling system and a good watch system. She was impressed, not just with the end result but the ease and the respect around the table. Those who knew were actually listened to, and even Aleria was gently voted down when she suggested more heavy arms for the meeting team. She even admitted being wrong, something she'd never seen a senior guildmember do, especially when they actually were wrong.

Finally they had a plan and arranged the times to meet up on the morrow. The wine cups went around once more before Aleria finally ended the meeting with a weary sigh. The others got up one by one, saying their good evenings, heading off for their rooms, their homes or at least in one case, the common room. She too stood, straightening her jerkin and finishing her wine.

"If you would stay a moment, Sime?" Aleria asked as the others left the small dining room. Jaheira shot a look over her shoulder, but Aleria shook her head quickly and the half elven woman departed.

"Okay." She assumed that Aleria wished to talk more about the morning's plan and how to implement their little stealthy operation. By her own admission, the knight was not exactly always the most subtle. Aleria'd proven more capable of lateral thinking than she'd expected out of a knight, but this was still a little out of her league.

The redhead had gotten out of her chair and refilled her goblet from the ewer on the sideboard. "More wine?"

"Please," she said, walking over. The wine at the _Coronet_ was not exactly the finest, but it seemed that either Aleria or one of her companions had a good eye for what vintages Bernard did have. Or, Bernard was just going out of his way to be nice.

She believed the first more than the second. Even under the circumstances. Bernard was a fine man, but always had an eye on the ledger.

Aleria refilled her cup and then motioned for her to sit down. She took a seat across the trestle table and lifted her cup.

"I wanted to ask you what you were really doing in Anomen's bedchamber this afternoon."

_Another point for her_, she thought as she tried desperately not to inhale a mouthful of wine. It just wasn't fair for a paladin to be _sneaky_. Although, as she choked down her wine and blinked away a few painful tears, one could say that she wasn't being sneaky. It was a very _direct_ question. Just exceedingly well timed.

"Excuse me?" she said, playing for time. Obviously she had not bought that she and Sir Anomen were discussing the situation at hand. Part of her was pleased that she had the skill to see through such a paper-thin charade. The rest was busy feeling very uncomfortable under that level gaze.

"I wish to know what transpired between you and Anomen." Aleria leaned back, her eyes still studying her intently. One eyebrow arched as she raised her cup. "You did not think I would believe such a paltry excuse."

"Why not ask Sir Anomen?" Defiance and redirection were two good tools in such situations. She decided to deploy them.

"I would. And he would answer me truthfully, but I wish to spare him the embarrassment." She leaned back in. "And I wish to know exactly how far I can trust you."

Her lips thinned as she looked back at the knight. The question was direct and straightforward. There was little room for evasion, only prevarication, and right now, that seemed an unwise choice. She needed Aleria's trust far more than Aleria needed her. Aran could find someone to replace her, and if so, with her fortunes already as ragged as they were, she did not think that even Mook's protection would help too much. Hells, her fall could bring Mook down as well.

There was no real shame in what she had done, yet… under Aleria's regard it almost felt like there was. She couldn't explain it, but the feeling was there. It was just flesh, just a tumble in the sack, but in the face of those two burning green eyes, those excuses felt like excuses.

Still, she was not simply going to cave under a stare, no matter how high and mighty or dangerous that person was. One did not just give information away, at least not in this business. So, putting down her cup, she put her elbows on the table and made her gamble. "If you really want to know, I'll trade. A truth for a truth."

"A truth for a truth?" Aleria repeated, eyebrows arching slightly as she studied her.

"Yes. You wonder if you can trust me. A reasonable question, I'll admit considering the… differences in professions. You know who I work for, know we don't offer anything for free. So, to show I'm on the level, I'll offer a trade. I will answer your question entirely truthfully, but you have to do the same."

Aleria's eyebrow arched severely as those green eyes studied her ever so intently. "Interesting. But I can see… a problem. Such an obligation would leave us both open to answering questions that we shouldn't."

Damn: smart, strong and stunning. A dangerous combination. This idea that the Order would employ knights that didn't use their heads for a place to hang their helm was really taking a beating. "True. Then, we will, by agreement, limit the questions to personal not… professional. That should keep both of our operations safe." She grinned.

"Agreed."

"And to show willing, I will answer yours first." She thinned her lips and sighed inwardly. As fun as the dance could be, the tune had stopped and the musicians demanded payment. "I went to Sir Delryn's room to repay my debt to him for saving Mook's life."

Aleria continued to regard her calmly and lifted her goblet to her lips. She let silence be her weapon, simply watching her with those implacable green eyes. It was obvious Aleria was giving her a choice. And it didn't really take all her training to know what it meant. If she was open, there could be trust. If not… well… yeah.

It was one of those choices. Wee.

"Of course, you're more interested in my method. Despite what they say about crime paying, I'm not exactly rich. So, I offered myself."

"Sexual relations, you mean?" Both eyebrows arched and she could swear a hint of color was blooming on Aleria's cheeks. _Interesting._

"Exactly. He's a man, I'm a woman. We're both young and attractive and I do _know_ how to show someone a good time," she replied languidly, leaning back in her chair and sipping her wine. For all her relaxed posture, she kept her eyes on Aleria, looking for the reaction.

"I see." Aleria's eyes widened slightly and she shook her head even as the color crept higher. "I figured as much."

"Really?" _So, not a complete innocent, but not exactly comfortable with the topic. Interesting._

"Yes. The change in clothing and the sheer level of embarrassment were rather broad hints in the direction." Aleria snorted. "But why?"

"That's a second question." She arched her eyebrow at the knight.

"It's a follow up."

"A rather broad follow up…" She smiled. "But, instead of arguing over the parameters of the deal," _especially with someone dedicated to order and law_, "I'll answer it. You might not like it though."

"There is much in this world I do not like Sime," Aleria shrugged. "But I have seen that ignorance is not bliss."

"Fair enough." She shrugged. "It's pretty simple. He's a man and nothing strokes their egos quite like a woman wanting them. He's a priest, and before you protest his Helmiteness to me, most priests like a roll in the sack, especially some of the more repressed religions. And…" She paused for a second, considering holding this last piece back. But she figured it would be easy enough to deduce, so it was better to share it, in the long run. "It was the only thing I had that might even be worth Mook's life." She laughed, a little bitterly. "So all of that combined into one big assumption. That Sir Anomen might be interested. Which… as you saw, he was not."

"Which lead to a heated enough … disagreement. I imagine you're not used to being turned down."

"Now that _is_ a second question," she fired back, a little more heatedly than she intended.

"Indeed. I withdraw the question." Aleria replied with a tilt of her head acknowledging the point while she cursed giving away the answer without a word. Damn temper. Damn man.

Mentally throttling her irritation and shoving her wounded pride into a dark alley with a solid kosh to the ear, she took a settling breath and watched Aleria. As the knight took another long drink of her wine, she considered her questions. There were any number of openings she could work, oblique ways to tease out information about her strengths or those of her company, that could prove useful to both her and the Guild. Information that would help protect themselves against such a capable knight. This might be her only chance to get such insight and she needed to pick the right question.

However, there was only one question she could ask.

"Why did you help save Mook?" She leaned forward, making a chopping motion with her left hand. "And don't say because it was the right thing to do."

"Even if that is the answer?" Aleria said levelly and without heat.

"That's why everyone does everything. Because they think it's right. I want to know -_why_-."

Aleria pursed her lips and shrugged her shoulders. She put her goblet down and folded her hands before her. Linking eyes, Aleria began, the frankness in her voice pouring over her like icewater. "Very well. Because it is part of the tenets of my faith to protect the weak and help the needy. Because she fought alongside me and I could not let her die if I could help and because no one deserves the fate she would have suffered."

Lying is an art, and she was as skilled an artist as there was. She could spin a whole tapestry out of suppositions and half truths and could spot the tiny inconsistencies to pull apart other people's attempts with ruthless efficiency. So, sitting there, confronted with such brutal honesty was shocking, unsettling. It felt like someone had yanked the chair from under her but somehow she hadn't quite managed to fall to the floor yet.

Shoving her hand through her hair, pushing it back, she let the words sink in. She really believed those words. It was a kind of belief that was frankly terrifying. Looking at her, she knew that Aleria wouldn't have let Yzabel hurt Sareena. And that _hurt_.

Swallowing hard, she yanked her hair back straight. It was enough to get her whirling thoughts back together. As she recomposed herself, she saw it. There was something else in the knight's eyes. She could see it; see in the faint rings beneath Aleria's eyes and the tightness in her shoulders. She'd seen some of that same weariness that night. And suddenly there was a second question. "But you couldn't… you had to ask Anomen to help. You had to plead with him. Why? Why did you?"

The reaction was so swift to be shocking. The tiredness, the weariness surged across her face, her lips thinking, her eyes closing. The knight heaved a breath. "Pain, Sime. Pain."

"Pain?" Aleria's answer caught her by surprise, and it caught the knight by it as well. For a moment, a brief moment, she could see past the mask she wore. She could see the pain like a living thing, running through her. It was like all revelations, amazing and frightening at the same time.

"I could see your pain, written on your face as if a scribe had drawn it across your skin. It was a pain I know too well. No one could spare me of it, but if I could another…" She shrugged heavily. "So I did what I could."

She didn't quite know how to respond. She'd been truthful, if a little glib, and received brutal, blunt honesty in return. It felt like she'd slapped someone and been punched in the gut in return. She drained her cup, feeling the hot wash of wine race through her, using it to prod her brain into some sort of coherent response.

Choking back emotions she shouldn't be feeling, she put down her cup. "Lady Aleria… I…" She swallowed hard. "Thank you. I mean that, really really do. I… Mook is my family and you and Anomen saved her. Anything I can do to repay you… I…"

"You're welcome, Sime," she said, her voice a little husky and low, her hand still tight around her own wine cup. The breached curtain stitched back up as she watched and slowly, a ghost of a smile appeared on her face. "And you need not repay me as you would have Anomen. That is quite alright."

She laughed. Yes, she was being teased, but it was a fair jab. There had been too much honesty and some laughter was needed to balance it out. "If you're sure."

"Quite." Aleria managed a chuckle and a broader smile.

"Then I'll do it one better." She leaned forward in her chair and looked her right in the eye. She made promises rarely as they were slippery, dangerous things. But sometimes they needed to be made. "You gave me back my family and I'll do everything in my power to do the same for you. We'll get Imoen back for you."

Aleria swallowed hard and might have even sniffed a little, but her control was back in place. "Thank you."

She stood slowly and surprisingly, a little unsteadily. There had been a lot of wine. "And I should go. Busy day tomorrow."

"Indeed."

Steps a little unsteady, and not just from the wine, she left the knight behind. As she closed the door behind her, she watched Aleria refill her cup and settle into her chair. The knight's eyes were far, staring off into the distance.

It wasn't hard to guess where. She was facing west, towards the ocean.


	14. Chapter 14 Things Brewing

**Chapter 14 -Things Brewing**

The _transition_ in the _Coronet's_ management had wrought a number of improvements, especially in the coffee. Gone were the days of tilting the cup up and waiting a second for the 'liquid' to detach from the ceramic and slide down the cup. No longer did the flavor constitute a crime against humanity nor was it so strong you had to swallow before it dissolved your teeth. Hells, you could even leave the spoon in the cup for a few seconds without any noticeable pitting or scarring. In fact, one could claim it actually tasted pretty good without being screamed down as a madwoman. It wasn't going to unseat Madame Jahar's or the Crooked Cactus anytime soon, but it was definitely drinkable.

The downside was that this coffee did not cut through a cheap wine and ale hangover like the old stuff did. And this was one of those mornings that required such potency. After the second cup and still feeling the ache behind her temples, she seriously started considering walking down to Clove Alley and getting a good cup of Calishite coffee, the kind that was as sweet as it was strong, with such a heady scent that you were awake even before you tasted it.

Unfortunately the job required her to stick around, forcing her to make do with Bernard's brew. At least it'd knifed the worst of last night, even if it hadn't quite dropped the beast rampaging around her skull. As she rubbed her brow, she thought for perhaps the sixth time this morning that she might have overdone it just a bit. But after everything of the last day, she needed to cut loose a little more. Just too much to deal with, so she'd fallen back on an old remedy. Banish the demons with drink and dance.

Yoshimo had been an able companion in the quest once she'd fully disabused him of his wild notion that he was actually going to get into her breeches. Once he'd settled into amused flirting, the two of them had run a couple of tables and fleeced a few unsuspecting marks. She'd had a tremendous amount of fun with a drunk nobleman who was more interested in her breasts than his cards. Which was foolishness in the extreme. Now, she did have very nice breasts, but they were not worth the coin he lost staring at them. Hells, for all that coin, he could have had quite a few sets of breasts to stare at. And do much, much more to.

Thank Tymora men were dumb.

His generosity fueled the rest of the night. Many bottles of wine were followed by lots of dancing. The bard had been good, and after a while moved from performer to partier herself. She had been a riot, drinking and dancing into the wee hours of the morning. They'd probably still be dancing if Bernard hadn't run the both of them off. Of course, she'd had to get up. No sight of Keto this morning. Girl was probably still blissfully sleeping it off.

She was working on her third cup of coffee and watching the stairs when she heard familiar voices. Turning in her chair, she saw Aleria and her companions emerging from a back hallway. The hallway that used to lead to the gladiator pits. Which had been shut down, considering that the new owner once fought in them. Even with that mystery, her headache sufficiently smothered her curiosity enough she simply waved as greeting.

Aleria said something quickly to the others and made her way over to her table as the others headed for the stairs. The tall woman's face was pink from obvious exertion, the sweat on her brow and darkening the neck of her heavy tunic confirming it.

"Good morning," Aleria said with a nod. And not just a nod, but a big, bright, _cheerful_ grin. The knight was _happy_ it was morning. This wasn't fair. She'd drank enough coffee to deal with people, but nowhere near enough to deal with _this_.

"Good morning to you as well," she said with as much cheer as she could manage, papering a smile over her hangover. "Aren't you all up early?"

"We were just getting a little training in to start the day," Aleria added, stretching out her arms and rolling her shoulders. "I find it helps to at least start the day on the right foot. The fates of course, often times have other plans for the rest of it."

"Words to live by," she said, sighing inwardly as she realized how true that statement was. Here she was, battling the beast of a hangover romping through her head while Aleria stood there brimming with vim and vigor. Gods be flung into a screaming hellpit, she was actually one of those morning people. Wonderful. Just wonderful. It was official, she was the fates' new whipping girl.

Aleria's smile quirked slightly, followed quickly with a fractional arch of the eyebrow. She must have let a little too much slip in her tone. "Truly," the knight replied before nodding at the heavy metal carafe at the center of the table. "That coffee?"

"Yes." She admitted. Ancient, near blood born rituals of hospitality came to the fore. "Would you care for some? It is decidedly passable."

"Only passable?" Aleria replied with a strangely crooked grin.

"I'd rate it about middle of the pack for the city," she said. Few people really cared about coffee, but she did and cared little if others knew. "Good, but nowhere near ready to challenge for supremacy." She saw the arched eyebrow and grin from the paladin and returned it good measure, throwing in a broad shrug for no extra charge. "Hey, I'm from Calimport. We are… rather particular about our coffee." Her people's obsession with the coffee bean and its proper roasting and brewing was already a thing of legend.

Aleria grabbed the opposite seat and waved to one of the waitresses for another cup. "I see. It certainly has gotten better though, hasn't it?"

"Goes without saying," she said with a snort. "Seems the cook finally grinds the beans properly. They still…"

"Overroast them? Not enough to ruin them, but still leave a slight charred taste?" Aleria interjected with that same knowing smile.

"Yes…" she replied, eyeing the grinning paladin. "How do you…"

"Who do you think taught the cook to grind the beans properly? Or to prepare them… almost… correctly?"

She sat back and gave the paladin a very searching look as another cup appeared. Her silence stretched through Aleria lifting the carafe, pouring a cup and even her first sip. It shouldn't have surprised her so much. She'd seen her drink coffee previously. But the thought that she took the art seriously was just a little… well, it didn't fit. A lot of things didn't fit with her, even after watching her as long as she had. She'd claim the hangover as an excuse, but she really had to stop letting this woman surprise her like this. It was starting to get annoying.

Aleria put the cup down and pushed back some hair still damp with sweat. "Sime, I grew up in the largest library in the world. Considering the prohibition against magic in the library proper, the monks, readers and visiting scholars needed _something_ to keep them going in the pale hours."

"Well, that makes sense," she said, her brain finally reengaging. Seeing a little piece of the puzzle, she decided to probe a little further. "Yet somehow, I find it hard seeing you laboring hard amongst all those books."

"I do not much look the part, do I? That aside, I did spend a great deal of time in the stacks. And in the inn that serviced the library. That's where coffee and I were introduced." She lifted her mug and gave it a look. "Well, to be truthful, Imoen started it. We were twelve. She … acquired a carafe and the two of us drank the whole thing in the back."

"A whole carafe. At twelve?" She laughed.

"Oh, I know." Aleria chuckled as well. "I was wound up, but Imoen?" The chuckle grew to a laugh. "She _vibrated_. Speaking so quickly you couldn't tell where one word ended and the next begun."

"I've been there," she said, remembering when as a little girl she'd done much the same. She'd been swinging on the wall hangings. The thought still brought a smile to her lips, even remembering how terrible she'd felt afterwards. "And even with that, it got its claws into you, didn't it?"

"That it did," she nodded and took another drink from her cup. Looking down at it, she sighed. "I am still not getting through to her."

"Doesn't measure up?" she said, hiding a smile. She knew that look, she'd worn it dozens of times after drinking a cup that just wasn't right.

"Oh it's alright. Just not…"

"Not the way you want it. Once you start making it, it's so hard to drink anyone else's." She smiled. It was just nice talking to someone who appreciated the fine art of coffee. "Who taught you?"

"My Father. He very much enjoyed his coffee." Her smile turned bittersweet. "He was not a man much for luxuries, but it was one he indulged. An 'addiction', as he called it, he picked up in the South. Every afternoon, after lessons, he would make some." She shook her head and took another sip. "We would sit in his study and discuss what I had learned before I went to join the Wardens for weapon training. Sometimes, we would just sit and read, a good cup of his coffee by the seat and a good a book in the hand. I miss that…." Her words trailed off with the familiar sigh of old memory.

"I know the feeling. Mook makes the best, best I've ever had. And a large cup of that and one of her overstuffed chairs?" she laughed softly. "Aleria, it's a small slice of paradise."

"Well then, I am even more glad that we saved her life," Aleria said, smiling genuinely if sadly.

"So am I," she smiled back at her. Watching Aleria stare into her cup like a window into the past, she received a fuller understanding of the knight's words from the previous evening. Wanting to ease a little of the pain carved into even her obviously well practiced mask, she offered, "You know, my coffee isn't quite as good as hers, but I do make a good cup. After this is all over, I will have brew some up for you."

Aleria lifted her head and an eyebrow, returning suddenly from the past. "Oh?"

"After all you've done for us, I think you deserve proper coffee. The way it _should_ be made."

"Thank you Sime." The smile on the knight's lips was deep and genuine.

"The least I can do for someone who enjoys coffee as much as I do." She smiled back. "Now, as much as I'd love to sit and drink coffee all day, we should get a move on. It will take some time to get you and Jaheira ready."

"Quite right," she said with a quick nod. Draining the last of her cup, she stood. "Allow me to go and prepare. We shall be down in a few minutes."

"Right."

"Thank you for the coffee, Sime."

"Quite welcome."

She watched the redhead ascend the rear stairs and poured the last of the coffee into her mug. As she drained the last of it, she realized she'd really meant all of it. Aleria was, to say the least, a most interesting woman and she found herself looking forward to getting another chance to chat. She tossed a few coins on the table and headed up herself.

Business needed to be attended to first.

The walk through the city was surprisingly quiet. Part of it could have been the two women with her, but it was also something else. There were less people on the streets, fewer of both beggars and laborers. There were more guards and they were looking more alert. Or at least sober. It was unsettling because it meant the war had reached the city's subconscious and everyone was hunkering down.

They slipped through a series of back corridors and alleys and past the security into the guildhall. After passing a last set of guards, they hit the stairs up to Alia's attic. The trek up the stairs to Alia's workshop was just as long and windy as the last time. And that was not even two days ago. Tymora's left tit, it was only two days ago.

A lot had happened in those two days.

For instance, she was leading Aleria, Knight of the Order of the Most Radiant Heart and her companion, Jaheira, the-almost-certainly-Harper-and-definitely-strongly-opinionated, up the stairs to the inner sanctum of one of the Guild's most precious craftswomen. She was their best armorer and leatherworker, and by the Shadowmaster's very order, she was taking two non guild women to be fitted by her. So that they would appear to be members of the guild. To help her track down those traitors who were selling her guildmates out to bastards who would truck with vampires.

Two days ago, even thinking those thoughts would have given her at least a twitch. Now, perfectly normal. Because, once you've rammed a sword into a vampire and been slapped across the cobbles for the effort, one's definition of normal changes a good bit. On the scale of the Great Desert being a bit parched.

She knocked on the door and waved the other two women in, cautioning them again, "Now, she's a bit… temperamental. But, there's no better in the business anywhere in the city. So, please try to understand."

Jaheira arched an eyebrow and Aleria nodded as they walked in, and she silently shook her head as she followed, closing the door behind her. Looking towards the back of the shop, she called out, "Alia! I have the ladies the Shadowmaster wanted fitted."

There were a few assorted bumps and the sound of something heavy rustling, followed by the unmistakable sound of a very old elf grumbling in elvish. Her elvish wasn't that good, but she didn't need a dictionary to get a rough translation of what she was saying. Actually, she could use one and a notepad. One should never pass up the chance to learn new and interesting ways to curse.

Alia emerged from the gloom of the back of her workshop like some patchwork monster, her long hair a tangled mess and the odd robe she wore half askew. She tugged it straight and adjusted her measuring ropes as she shuffled forward, looking first at Jaheira and then Aleria. She grunted a few times and then stopped suddenly, eyes swinging back to Aleria and fixing on her like they were drawn by magnets.

She lurched forward with surprising speed, enough that the other two women started to reflexively reach for weapons. Alia paid that no mind, instead snatching Aleria's left arm and straightening it. She heard the knight grunt in surprise as her eyes widened in shock.

The old elf was stroking her arm.

No, she was stroking the armor. Her fingertips were tracing the scarlet scales of her armor and her eyes bored in, studying it like a scholar some unknown text. She pulled Aleria forward and hauled her down by the shoulders.

Finally finding her tongue, Aleria demanded, "Pardon me, good woman,"

"Shhh! Studying."

Aleria shot her a glance as the old elf tugged her left arm further down, apparently to study her back. Not knowing exactly what to do or advise, she simply shrugged. Alia was odd and based on her experiences and what's she'd heard, this only ranked as mildly peculiar.

After about two minutes of poking and prodding, of circling and moving Aleria about, she stood back and snorted derisively. "Ancient dragon scale." She sucked a breath through her teeth and shook her head again. "Beautiful scale. Poor craft."

"Poor craft?" Aleria blurted out.

"Poor craft," Alia said flatly and stared up at the knight. Arching an eyebrow, she said, "Alia know. Bind across shoulder. Tight across chest. Ride up in back. Tight in seat. Chafe around knees."

Aleria colored slightly, taking a half step back, both she and Jaheira giving the woman stares that were equally unfriendly and shocked. Licking her lips, looking more like a wolf brought to bay by a mouse, Aleria replied, "Perhaps a little, but nothing serious."

"Nothing serious?" Alia growled. "Yes, it functional." She said the word like it was the most hideous of curses. "But where is art? This is… this amateur." She grabbed Aleria's arm and hauled it up in front of her face. She poked the elegant seeming wind of scale that covered her forearm. "Look at this? Poor layering." She let poor Aleria's hand drop and the knight whipped her arm away. "And worse. You pretty. And he can't help being pervy bastard."

"Cromwell? Cromwell the dwarf?"

Well, that was a fun little fact. The oddball armorsmith of Athkatla a pervert? As far as she knew, the man barely left his shop and hated being bothered. Which didn't mean it wasn't true. On the other hand, the woman making the charge was a half mad hermit living in the attic. Who based on the way she'd been measured, probably was a bit of a pervert as well.

Well, they do say it takes one to know one.

"Yes," hissed Alia, oblivious to her observations. "Obvious his work. Poorly done, done to protect yes, but also to show off body." Alia spat. "Talentless hack."

"He's said to be the best smith in all the Coast."

Alia snorted. "Cromwell? He hack. He mountain buggering incompetent. Stupid…" Alia trailed off into what had to be elvish and was certainly not complimentary. "I fix his mistake. Give me armor."

"Just give it to you? Who are you to ask?" Aleria demanded.

Alia drew herself to her full height, her ancient, stooped shoulders squaring proudly. Eyes blazing like suns, she intoned in perfect, clear Common. "I am Aliannath Silverbow! I learned the Craft at the foot of Dannethia the Beautiful, who was the finest student of Kirina the Smith of Myth Drannor. Who are you to question my Craft?"

She felt her jaw drop open. Hells, it nearly dropped off her face. She had no idea who those people were, but she did know of Myth Drannor, so it sounded awfully impressive.

From the look on Aleria's face, she actually knew the names and they were as impressive as she supposed. Once the knight snapped her own jaw shut, she said very politely, "I see. I… did not know. My apologies."

Alia, no _Aliannath_ waved her hand dismissively. "You not know. Now, give me armor. I measure, I fix, I make better. Fit better, protect better. And make Cromwell seethe." Aliannath chuckled darkly and unpleasantly. "He think he so great. Stupid preening dirthumper! Hah! Alia show him."

"Why thank you," Aleria said. "But this is my armor. I rather need it at the moment…"

"Always busy. Know type! Always quest this and hit that! Bah! I talk of Art! You wearing…" She waved her hands distastefully. "You give me armor, I fix. I make _right_."

"Aliannath," she finally interjected. "We need both of them outfitted for a mission this evening, we don't…"

"Little desert girl, already scratching up nice new armor Alia make for you." Her eyes narrowed and shot her a look that would freeze the desert sun. "Now, you quiet."

"The Shadowmaster…" she said desperately.

"Bah! You tell him I talk of Art!"

"We still…"

"Bah! Bah! Never peace, never time for _Art_. Fine." She stared at Aleria. "This one brigandine. This one…" She gave Jaheira a quick glance over. "Have right thing." She shuffled into the back and pulled out two heavily wrapped bundles. "This I made for other half breed. Your size. Last one ended up dead, never pay. No one else want, will fit." She thrust the packages into her hands, ignoring the bewildered Aleria and the furious thunderhead of a druid. She leaned in, eyes narrow and voice flat. "Good enough?"

It was a singularly unpleasant experience, bearing the full brunt of her stare. Those ancient eyes bored into her, leaving a trail of the old elf's thwarted passions and the rare flashes of excitement and challenge. She didn't care at all about what she or the Shadowmaster or Aleria wanted. It was the stare of an ancient zealot. And this was her being polite. With little other recourse, she swallowed and nodded. "Um, sure."

"Good." She pointed at Aleria. "Now give me armor, I fix. I make _right_." She nodded, fiercely. "I have done by nightfall too. Always in hurry, humans." The last bit was huffed in complete distaste.

"I don't…"

She turned that glare on Aleria. The knight met it and then finally nodded. "Very well. I suppose I will be otherwise equipped today."

"Yes yes yes. Armor." Alia said impatiently.

Aleria held up her hands in surrender and started unbuckling the dragon armor. It seemed that Alia had little patience for that, and soon the old elf leapt into the fray, attacking the buckles with furious zeal and vicious commentary about their construction. She even shoved Aleria to a chair to get the scale leggings off and, well, whatever the fancy technical term was for the armored boots. In mere moments, Aleria went from fully armored knight to surprised looking woman wearing a heavy padded tunic that she was pretty sure was called an arming jacket and light breeches.

Alia dumped the armor onto a workbench and trundled back over and plucked at the arming coat. "You wear _this_?"

"Yes," Aleria said, starting to look worried.

"I make replacement. This… this…" She spat. "Not worthy of such armor. Make from silk. Special design. Much more comfortable. Less sweaty."

Before anyone could object, Alia had pulled the arming jacket off. Aleria's cheeks flushed scarlet and she tried to fire off an objection. At least Aleria was better dressed than she'd been when assaulted by Alia, wearing a light linen vest under the jacket. Deciding to use surprise as a tool, the elf whipped her measuring ropes off of her neck and around the statue still knight. The ropes flew around legs, arms, neck, waist and chest like quicksilver. "There. I work," she nodded fiercely. She gathered up the pieces of armor and headed towards the heart of her workshop. "You go. Stop bothering."

She chased them out of the workshop, slamming the door behind them. Latches rammed home with booming echoes in the empty, drafty stairwell. The three of them looked at each other, wearing looks of complete surprise.

"That… was an interesting experience," Jaheira said, the first to recover her equilibrium. Taking the designated package from her hands, she arched an elegant eyebrow. "Is she usually so… opinionated?"

"From what I understand, yes." she said, shaking her head as her brain tried to process the last few minutes.

"She is… forceful," Aleria said, shaking her head.

"Did you know those names?" she asked

"Yes. All of the names are famed elven smiths, renowned for their skill in armorcraft. I read about them as a girl. Even she was mentioned." The knight shook her head again. "To think that one of them… working here… in this shop…"

"Stranger things," Jaheira said with a shrug.

"I have seen so much in the last year, meeting a smith of legend shouldn't be a surprise," Aleria replied, chuckling a little hysterically.

"Wow. I never had a clue," she said with a shake of her head. "That would explain how she gets away with what she does."

"Artists," Jaheira snorted.

"What I want to know is what was that string of elvish cursing?" she interjected. "I know a _lot_ of elven curses, but I don't know those."

"It's an ancient dialect," Aleria said, arching an eyebrow. "The most polite of it implying that, well, Cromwell should be… buggered by mining implements."

There was a short shout in elven through the door. All three of them looked at the aging, cracked oak, suddenly remembering the power of elven hearing. After a moment, both she and Jaheira turned towards Aleria. The knight shrugged. "My apologies. High elven isn't really my forte. I'm always getting confused as to whether _venarii_ is transitive or intransitive... anyway... What she really meant is that Cromwell _buggers_ mining implements."

"Oh."

"Indeed."

"Well… now that we've got armor for you, we should probably get you to the rest of the team," she said.

"Anything we need to worry about with them?" Aleria said, taking the other bundle and pulling it open. "I would prefer no further accosting today." She pulled out a pair of boots covered in small, tightly spaced iron plates and thrust her feet into them. "At least, these fit."

"And they aren't… green." Jaheira said, looking inside the bundle. Cured, green dyed leather poked out.

"You're at least still properly dressed," Aleria replied, rummaging in the packet and pulling out a cuirass of heavy leather and steel plates. As she shook it out, she got a good look at a wicked looking scar that wrapped around Aleria's left forearm. The wide silver streak stretched from elbow to wrist. "A reminder from my Father's murderer," Aleria said.

Her head snapped up to find two sets of green eyes studying her. Flushing slightly, she shrugged. "Sorry."

Aleria slipped a thick leather bracer over the scar. The stairway was cold, but the ice in her voice that made her shiver. "The scar was a small cost to bring justice crashing down on his foul head."

She nodded. Revenge was something she knew. It was an emotion she understood completely, like the look of cold satisfaction on the knight's face. For all the things she couldn't understand about Aleria, this was something she did. It was strange, but that made Aleria seem just that much more real. More human.

Jaheira nodded as well and reached over to squeeze Aleria's shoulder. "May he burn in the Abyss."

"Indeed. And Irenicus will join him. We will rescue Imoen and get justice for all of our fallen." Aleria said as she reached up to grasp Jaheira's hand.

She kept her peace, letting the two women have their moment. There was no place for her in that discussion. Instead, she busied herself with her own list, headed by the smirking face of that bitch Yzabel. Yes, she'd wipe that smirk off her face. She already had the seed of a plan. She needed Mook's help and access to the old warehouse near the granaries. Then it was just the matter of…"

"Sime?"

It was her turn to snap her head up. She'd been caught staring at mirages. "Yes?"

"While it is still early, should we not be about finishing our disguises?" Aleria asked, adjusting the brigandine cuirass. Jaheira still had her armor tucked under and arm.

"Yeah. This way. And while Wilhelm and Halana are odd, they're nowhere near that odd."

"That is not that assuring," Jaheira quipped.


	15. Chapter 15 Disguises

**Chapter 15 - Disguises**

She hurried down the brightly painted if poorly lit corridor. Dealing with the _fundamental disagreements_ between Jaheira and Wilhem on her disguise had eaten a tremendous amount of time and an even larger amount of patience. Yes, the clothing and armor had been a bit _unexpected_ and very green, but weren't tree huggers supposed to be okay with all of that? Open to the changes of the cycles and at one with nature? She was pretty sure that's what her reading of their philosophies had said.

Of course, that could be entirely true and it was just _Jaheira_ that was the exception. Considering her rather _opinionated_ nature, it very well could be. Woman could give mountains lessons in obstinacy.

She chuckled as she rounded a corner. For as frustrating as they were, the battle of wills between the stubborn woman and the equally opinionated makeup artist was also wickedly entertaining. If things had been different, she would have happily curled up around a double mug of Mook's brew and just watched the fire fly. Instead, she had to referee that match. It even worked. By Tymora's tight bottom, after pulling that off, she might have a second career as a diplomat.

Well, that is provided that pairing Aleria with the ever exuberant Halana didn't turn into a disaster on its own. Grin fading quickly, she rushed forward, ears open for any sign of impending doom.

Hearing Halana's high pitched voice ask something, too soft to be distinct, she rushed for the door to the artist's studio. Swinging around the jamb, she was greeted by Aleria reclined in the makeup chair and Halana standing on her stool, bouncing on her heels with her hands wrapped tightly together, eyes glued to the recumbent knight.

Her footfalls slowed. If there was a disaster in progress, it was at least a quiet one.

"Imagine a creature larger than any ship in the harbor," Aleria said evenly as she came to a stop by the entryway. "Cover it with scales of the deepest ruby, stronger than steel and with edges like razors. Give it claws longer than your hand and teeth like daggers. Wings that would blot out the sun and a tail like a living spear. Breath of fire. Add to that a genius mind and the millennia to hone that intellect diamond sharp." The knight leaned forward, staring intently back at Halana. "Now… make it _mad_."

Halana went quiet and still, something she'd not actually thought possible for the hyperactive halfling. Not that she could blame her, the image Aleria painted chilled her as well. She'd seen the armor, it's thick, shining, razor edged scales gleaming and flowing like something alive as Aleria had fought. To think of it on its original owner, some massive, malevolent _dragon_…

She swallowed hard, blood freezing in her veins.

The image terrified her, roaring from the depths of her worst nightmares. But as primal as that fear was, raw and irrational, it paled in the face of much more _real_ fear. For as fearsome as this dragon was, it was something insubstantial, just a story. The woman who'd slain it however, because you can't just kill a dragon, you slay it, was very real and sitting in a chair less than five feet from her.

Having a super talkative, hyperkinetic halfling pestering her with gods know what other questions.

Maybe sparing Jaheira from Halana's peculiarities hadn't been her best decision.

"Were… were you scared?" Halana asked, her voice trembling as her hands jerked slightly as she wound braids into Aleria's dye blackened hair.

"Scared?" Aleria asked with a dry laugh, motionless in the reclined chair. "Halana, I was _terrified_."

"_Really?_" Halana squealed excitedly, her voice going up another register entirely. She cringed and wondered how Aleria could sit still under such an assault. "I would have been _so_ scared my teeth would have chattered out!"

Aleria laughed good naturedly, perhaps even imagining Halana's teeth doing just that. Certainly would make the girl quieter. Probably. "I was scared too. We all were. But we had to stand and fight."

"Why?" Halana asked, stopping her work to stare the knight square in the face. She leaned in closer as well, abandoning her perch without even knowing it. Hearing this much of the story, she wanted to hear the answer. But if her read of Aleria was right, she knew the form it would take.

Aleria went icy still. "We had to stand and fight. We had no choice." She took a deep breath. "We'd sworn to rescue Lord Windspear's son. We had fallen friends to avenge. If that was not enough to make us stand our ground, that monster, that beast, would have continued destroying. Hurting people and ruining lives. And the havoc it wreaked was borne out an old grudge and _boredom_." The venom on that last word could burn through stone. "As if arranging the death of a company of knights or destroying a man and his family were the idle occupation of a dreary afternoon." She heaved a deep breath. "If we hadn't stopped Firkraag, if we hadn't killed him, he would have kept on doing it. And all those deaths would have been on our hands. That's why we didn't run."

The conviction of the delivery was masterful. Any actor would have been proud of that performance; it would have brought houses down across the Coast. But it was the humility of the delivery that sold it. Even at her best, she couldn't have replicated the tale without some measure of boasting of the greatness and nobility of the act. Aleria could, with the simple, chilling certainty that it just needed doing.

The story pulled together many of the separate threads of the tapestry she was reweaving of the woman named Aleria of Candlekeep. Reality had forced her to rip out a much of the original pattern, too much of it crafted from foolish assumptions and prejudices. It was galling to do, but she was a professional and that meant actually admitting mistakes. Still didn't make it any easier to swallow that she'd been so wrong. The only consolation came from the fact that there could be people as, well, noble as the ones in the stories.

"Wow," Halana finally said, obviously star struck.

"Oh, there were other reasons as well," she chimed in, finally emerging from the shadows of the entryway. She grinned at Halana, flashing one of her more insouciant smiles. Halana needed a little dose of reality, even if the reality she was about to supply was total fiction. "Another reason to take on ancient dragons is they make for amazing fashion accessories."

"Fashion accessories?" Just as she suspected, Halana's eyes went even wider while Aleria half turned in her chair, arching an eyebrow curiously.

"Oh yes. Dragonhide makes for the best leather. Belts, gloves, boots. Our good knight here has two pairs of dragon skin boots. Just look at the luster on that leather."

Halana oohed appropriately. She was quite the artist but was also easily distracted by anything shiny. Even more so than most of her people. She smiled a little more, suddenly remembering Mazzy, a halfling that likely would not be so easily deterred.

"Exactly. Our good knight here is quite the hero, and to be a hero, you have to look appropriately heroic, right?"

"Of course," Halana chirped.

Aleria remained quiet, simply watching with a look that was rapidly switching back and forth from amusement to annoyance.

"That's why we need your best work to make her look _bad_."

"Oh you're gonna get it too, Sime!" Halana was bouncing on her feet now. Well, bouncing _more_. "I've got it! One last touch! Wait, no, eyepatch is too much. No, that just wouldn't match." She bounced and snapped her fingers. "Of course. Just need the right lip paint!" Muttering to herself happily, she bolted off into her work closet.

As the halfling cheerfully tossed about her supplies, she sidled up to Aleria, leaning on Halana's workbench. Aleria, looking halfway the complete street thug, returned the stare, measure for measure. "Fashion accessories?" she hissed. "I do not like my motivations…"

She held up both hands quickly. "I know. Wasn't meant as an insult." She pointed quickly at the halfling bouncing in her makeup closet. "But Halana, for all her skills is _exceptionally_ curious. You tell her heroic stories and you're going to be in that chair until the sun burns out and the land turns to ice answering questions."

"She does seem… rather … inquisitive," Aleria said, casting a glance over her shoulder to where the halfling was still working.

"You don't know the half of it," she chuckled.

"I see. So that was a rescue mission?" There was a hint of a smile on Aleria's face now.

"Consider it me just doing my duty." She grinned crookedly at her. "Plus, it's not like I'm stretching the truth. The armor, the whole ensemble really does cut a very heroic silhouette."

"That was not my intent." Aleria replied. "I am far more interested in its function than in its form. And the function of that hide is…"

"I know," she interjected. "But you still look like some hero straight out of a story." She arched an eyebrow and chuckled. "A knight errant with a holy blade and dragon mail armor? That's bardnip if I've ever heard it."

"Bardnip…" Aleria's brow knitted. "Ah, like catnip. Only for storypeddlers." She snorted derisively. "Perhaps it is, but frankly, the last few years have proven that it is much better to read the story than to be part of one."

"So, you're telling me that none of the trappings appeal?" She looked at her curiously. "No tales of glory for you? You don't enjoy being a great hero up and down the Coast?"

"When I was younger, just a girl who read too many books, I dreamed of glory and honor. Of righting wrongs and rescuing damsels and princes. Of finding my place in all those stories I loved so much. I devoured dozens of books of heroic tales, they were my way to see beyond Candlekeep's walls. But," she paused, grimacing slightly, an expression made much more grim by the enhanced scars of her disguise. "as my Father said, there is a catch to stories. You may get to live one, but it may not be the one you want."

"That…" she trailed off, remembering Jocana's stories. There were tales of adventure and love and romance, but also frightening ones. Sad ones. Tragedies. She thought of the last few nights and how they too could have been right out of a story. "That is so true. And you know, even if it might be the one you wanted, there might have been parts the storyteller left out."

She felt a strong hand squeeze her shoulder. "There always is, Sime. For instance, how bad a party of adventurers smell after a week in the field. Never mentioned, not even in the more 'realistic' stories."

Snorting back a laugh, she turned on the taller woman. "And they never mention that the heroic knights have senses of humor. Or a penchant for terrible jokes."

Aleria smiled. "Our reputation suffers because bards feel that they are the only ones with wit. Considering the bards I've met…" She snorted.

"Oh, I've met a few clever ones, but… most do seem rather impressed with themselves." She shared a chuckle with the taller woman before continuing on down the hall. "So, if you could pick your own story, which would you pick?"

There was a short pause before her answer. "I do not know, Sime. I think I've been too busy surviving mine to think of it." Aleria shook her head and frowned. "How about you?"

"Me?" She grinned slightly, not at the obvious darkening of Aleria's mood, but at a chance to make her chuckle. Lightening her inflection, hanging a little more of a saucy grin on her lips, she answered. "What can I say? I'm easy."

"Indeed?" Both of Aleria's now jet black eyebrows arched and a little flicker of green danced behind her now blue eyes.

"Quite simple. I'll be the rich queen, living in utterly depraved luxury in a mystical palace out in the desert. From my secret palace, I will give aid and succor the heroes at their time of need and then send them on their way."

Aleria studied her for a moment, as if sizing her up for the role and then finally chuckled. "Somehow I doubt that."

"Why, do you not think I'd make a good desert enchantress? I do look absolutely stunning in silk," she teased.

"I do not doubt that," Aleria chuckled and rolled her eyes slightly. "No, I just imagine you would quickly go mad with boredom."

She pursed her lips and chuckled. "Again, the point is proven."

Halana took that moment to return with a small alabaster jar, its edges stained red. Pulling the lid off, she flourished a jar of a deep maroon. "This will be so perfect!" She cocked a tiny hip and growled as fiercely as a hyperactive Halfling could. "With your new coloring, this so says 'I'm as bad as bad can be, can snap off all sorts of bits and you so want me but nuh uh, hands off.'"

"Uh?" Aleria said, blinking incomprehension.

"That'll do Halana. That'll do." Sime said quickly, lest she lose ten minutes to mutual incomprehension.

"Okies!"

Aleria gave her a questioning look and she nodded reassuring nod as Halana went back to work. She worked with frenzied speed, painting her lips, finishing the touches to the new scars and finishing up a professionally ragged braid. Afterwards, she turned her attention to the armor, scuffing, adjusting and professionally rumpling the armor. Adding a touch of rust to the studs on her knee, she finally stepped back. "All done!"

Gingerly, Aleria swung out of the chair and took a look at herself in the mirror. She stood transfixed, understandably so. Halana had done an impressive job. Her hair was jet black and the scar on the left side of her face had been bulked and extended enough it pulled at her mouth and trailed into her hair line. Another had been added to her chin. Special lenses had turned those startling green eyes a cool blue. The armor had been roughed up and scuffed, enough to make it look well worn but well maintained.

The tall, straight backed knight had been replaced with a hard edged sellsword. The braid was severe, the makeup harsh and the scar gave her a slight sneer, all working with her natural expressions and posture. She shook her head. Halana again had proven herself quite the master. With coaching, she doubted any but the closest friends could identify this tough was actually Aleria of Candlekeep.

"By Tyr," Aleria said, gingerly touching her cheek and tracing the rough edged scar. "It is like looking at a stranger…"

"I know!" Halana squealed. "Just like Sime wanted. Tough and dangerous with some hard edged sex appeal."

"Hard edged …" Aleria turned towards her, eyebrow arching severely. The arch twisted the scar even more severely, pulling her mouth into a frown. With those icy blue eyes, the look was decidedly unsettling.

Perfect.

"Look, unless we spent hours, we weren't going to disguise the fact that you're beautiful. I just figured we'd shape it to make you appear even more intimidating."

"Ah." Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. Teach her to drift her hand to a swordhilt and that studying look of hers would transform into something truly menacing.

"Yes," she said, hands on her hips. "It's necessary for the role you're playing and I think it'll work. Plus, nothing puts people off their footing like danger and attraction melded together."

"You are the expert," she said, lips thinning slightly. It looked like she would say something else but instead she turned to Halana. "And Halana, thank you for your efforts. And your conversation."

"Oh! Oh!" Halana _beamed_. Aleria had just made a lifelong friend. "Thank you!" The halfling darted in and hugged her. "You were so amazing to work with! Going to miss you!"

Aleria smiled at her and gave her a quick embrace. "And I you." Again she turned back to her. "I assume there is still work to do?"

"Indeed. We need to get you armed appropriately. I'm afraid your usual weapons, especially that holy blade of yours really wouldn't fit the image."

"Somehow I am not surprised. Lead the way."

She escorted Aleria to an unused storeroom that they were using for an armory for the mission. Harrik had rather _strenuously_ insisted that any arming be done far away from the Guild's official armories, a position she completely supported. There were a lot of things that Aleria and Jaheira had no need to know they had. And a few that might be _special_ enough that it could cause real operational problems. Like smiting.

She'd never been smitten? smote?, whatever the actual past tense of smite was, and had no desire to actually experience it. So, giving Harrik giving an idea of what might be needed, the old grizzled bear had winked and promised just the right things.

Pushing open the door to the storeroom and ushering in the wicked looking Aleria, she had to grin. Harrik, as usual, had done his work. Two battered and worn tables were laid out with a selection of weapons. A few wicked looking swords, a nasty, misshapen looking club, some metal wrapped staves, two crossbows along with a veritable cornucopia of knives and daggers lay in neat rows along the heavily gouged wood. She smiled and shook her head. Harrik really did love his knives.

Leaning against one of the few chairs dotting the spare room, she waved to the table. "See anything you like?"

"Quite the selection," Aleria said with an arched eyebrow, plucking an exotic, curved bladed dagger from the table. "Although slanted heavily toward knives I see."

"We try to avoid pitched battles," she said with a grin as she watched Aleria heft the swords one by one. "The one on the docks, that was my first, and hopefully my last."

"A sentiment I both understand and agree with," Aleria said, giving a blade with a dull grey hilt and pommel an experimental swing. "However," she gave the blade a second swing and nodded appreciatively. "You will excuse me if I arm myself as if expecting otherwise."

"Not at all, Aleria," she said with a smile and a nod as the knight turned tough slid the sword into a matching worn black scabbard and belted it on. She selected a dagger and added to the belt and then slid a thin shank into her boot. As she stood and adjusted the sword belt, she arched an eyebrow speculatively. "But if you are, just sword, dagger and boot knife?"

"Sufficient weapons for the situation," Aleria replied.

"Maybe, but I can't imagine a guildmate of mine going out so lightly armed."

"I could get an axe or a mace, I suppose, but I thought we were supposed to look like we meant business, not war?"

"Well, yes, I'm not talking about a bunch of spears and bows and halberds and all the rest of those… pole things," Sime replied, waving her hand vaguely and dismissively. She'd seen the armory of one of the nobles of Athkatla, the Verin family it was. It was a veritable forest of twisted bits of metal on long poles. She was sure that they had purposes, likely violent poking, but they remained an unsolved mystery. "I meant a few backup knives and throwing daggers."

"I do have a knife in my boot, Sime," Aleria replied patiently. "What more do I need?"

Sime laughed. "Okay, Lady Knight, how many weapons do you think I'm carrying right now?"

Blue eyes flicked over her frame with a cold and calculating efficiency. Combined with that make up, it made for a surprisingly off putting experience. "Do I count the crossbow and short sword?"

"I do have them."

"Very well." Aleria paused, studying her closely. Eventually, she nodded. "Eight."

"Eight?"

"Yes. Short sword and crossbow at the belt. Bolts at your hip for thrusting weapons. Belt knife. Knife in each boot. Knife in each bracer."

She grinned, smile racing from ear to ear. "Sixteen."

Both eyebrows shot up. Those blue eyes went wide as saucers. Incredulous, she replied, "Sixteen?"

"Sixteen."

The eyes narrowed quickly, peering at her, studying her as if just by looking the knight could discern where she'd hidden her weapons. Which, of course, was the entire point of going the lengths that she had to hide them. The more weapons one could secret past even a trained observer, the more options open. After a long moment of Aleria peering and her grinning in reply, the knight finally said, "I believe you, but I am mystified as to how and where."

Her smile widened enough that her cheeks were starting to hurt. Aleria had proven herself such a master of the arts of combat that showing her own mastery proved so utterly delicious. If time hadn't been such an issue, she would have taken the time to demonstrate that skill in full, using every ounce of showmanship she possessed. She'd tilt the balance of the scales back in her favor by laying out each expertly hidden weapon step by step. However, time was a luxury she didn't have, especially with so much more prep work to do.

Of course, that didn't mean she couldn't give that balance a good, hard shove. Grinning salaciously, she threw a wink at the disguised knight. "Well, we pull this mission off and I'll let you check me for all sixteen."

"I see," Aleria said, her left eyebrow beginning to arch quizzically. Then, with exceptionally well hidden glee, she watched the innuendo strike home with slightly widened eyes and the merest hint of a blush. Quite the relief to know that chink was there in the armor and that at least a f_ew_ of the stereotypes were spot on.

"I do believe that is Sime's implication," a familiar voice quipped from the doorway.

She snapped her head around to see Jaheira, resplendent in her costume standing in the doorway, arms crossed under her breasts. The woman was dangerously quiet, silent enough that she had to very quickly slide a throwing dagger back into her bracer. However, she could forgive her for how much redder Aleria suddenly flushed under makeup. Her bolt may have only struck armor, but Jaheira's scathing retort drove it home.

No one could discomfit you like a mentor and teacher, something Jaheira was so obviously to Aleria. She could remember quite a few times Mook catching her out had her kicking herself and turning red, like when she got involved in that whole Jasper affair. Course, she learned from it, but gods it was not fun.

Jaheira had her transfixed with a stern scowl, badly clashing with the styled, silken blonde hair and form fitting green leather cuirass and matching trousers. Still the scowl and accompanying glare were of professional grade, highly trained and focused, with the open bodice, tightly corseted bosom and expertly applied makeup barely even denting its effectiveness. Might have even worked on someone less experienced. She'd been scowled at by people who'd have you killed just because they didn't like their lunch and you were upsetting their digestion. Druids cranky about your sassing their poor little innocent knights? Bah.

Still, they said the best defense was a good offense. Setting aside the attempt to broil her in her boots, and taking a closer look, she saw an opportunity to do just that. The way Jaheira's arms were folded and her stiff stance showed she was not comfortable in her kit. Plan forming, she returned sweet smile for frozen frown, she chirped, "I was simply informing Aleria that with our important mission, I didn't have time to demonstrate how I hide my weapons but that afterwards, I could satisfy her professional curiosity."

"Indeed," Aleria said perhaps a little too quickly.

"A thorough display, no doubt." The voice was still bone dry, but the eyebrow arched further.

"Jaheira," she kept that smile stuck in syrup. "I am nothing if not thorough." She let a little of a teasing tone creep into her voice as she flipped the dagger point around and riposted. "As is Wilhem I see. Did his usual magic. Course, it would help if you smiled. At least a little. You do know how, yes?"

"Indeed." This time there was a burr in the clipped pitch of her voice as she severely tugged at the tightly laced cuirass. "Although the fit of this leather leaves little to smile about."

"As I explained, we have few of your kin amongst our number," she said as evenly as she could and resisting the treacherous urge to point out to the druid that if she found little to smile about, most living, breathing males _would_. "Those that are either are Knives or work for Bayle. And your temperament doesn't match the few that are Knives." Jaheira shot her a glance that would have flayed the skin off most humans, but she let it slide off her like a warm desert breeze. "It's true. I can't really see you as the mad and somewhat giggling type."

"No, neither could I." Aleria added, a near rebellious hint of laughter creeping into an otherwise level tone. "In fact, I find it impossible to believe that Jaheira even knows _how_ to giggle."

Jaheira's brow furrowed and her eyes narrowed as she tugged again at the cuirass. "I understood your reasoning when I agreed." She shifted her shoulders and gave the decidedly tight leather another tug. "I just expected a greater freedom. To move. To breathe even."

"Bayle's people … try to catch the eye, Jaheira. And Alia certainly did her job with that armor."

"Catch the eye?" she snorted ill-naturedly. "With the amount of cleavage I have on display, I think it would qualify as mugging the eye."

"I never said Bayle's people were always subtle about it," she couldn't help grinning now. "Plus, I thought the druid ethos was all about being at peace with nature and one's body."

"Corsetry is not natural. Closer to abomination."

"I suppose we _could_ lose the corset," Sime said, crooking a grin. "But I foresee complications."

"Such as?" the druid asked archly.

"I am not the master of covert operations like the both of you," Aleria said with an evenness and innocence that was expertly feigned. "But I imagine our success would be severely imperiled if you were arrested for public indecency, public lewdness and causing civil unrest."

"I can see the first two, but unrest?" She cast a look at the druid. "I admit, they're shapely, but worthy of riot?"

"Oh, the riot would come once she started bludgeoning the guards."

"When I encouraged you to develop a sense of humor, child, I did not intend it be so badly misused," Jaheira groused, a hint of a smile on her face.

"Similar statements were made by Imoen when I tried my hand at practical jokes."

Jaheira chuckled. "She should have known better."

"She learned." The knight flashed a distinctly unpaladinish smile. In fact, it looked downright roguish, especially with the makeup. There was hope after all.

As one of Jaheira's blonde dyed eyebrows arched severely, she suppressed a treacherous giggle. A few more pointed barbs came to mind, but she smothered them in the name of amity. She watched in silence as Jaheira gathered a few assorted daggers and studiously did not stare as the druid _contorted_ to hide them away. They were not as expertly hidden as she could have, but the woman still showed impressive … ingenuity.

After letting both women get settled and finish arming, she waved to the exit. "Well, now that your disguises, let's get you used to them. We've only got a few hours to make you look like you're members of the Guild. And I have a feeling that it's going to take all of that time."

There were times it did not pay to be as good at reading people as she was. She'd estimated that it would take much of the remains of the afternoon to get Jaheira and Aleria ready to play their parts in the upcoming mission. As the afternoon wore on, that prediction proved depressingly true. She knew that Aleria would have a hard time getting into her role, but Jaheira was proving equally as difficult. More so because the woman had obvious training in this line of work. The problem sprang from the fact she was trained to stay to the shadows instead of the art of hiding in plain sight and her instruction was running smack into that wall.

All this left her in the enviable position of trying to convince two exceptionally opinionated women to do things her way. Thankfully, for her and the mission, convincing others to do what she wanted was a skill. Maybe more of a gift. The problem was simple; convince a staid knight to play the swaggering brute and the tightly controlled tree hugger to play the sassy courtesan. And of course, the simple things are always hard.

Jaheira, despite the training she had to get around, still proved the easier to talk around. Jocana held that every woman possessed the soul of a seductress, even the frumpiest or dour. The woman only had to reach into the depth of her heart and escort her to the surface. It helped that the druid was an exotic beauty, even as hard edged and prickly as she was. When the first approaches failed, she changed direction. The woman Jaheira was replacing, Liseta was a flirt, but she also had a haughty edge to her especially when angry. Considering that corset was doing nothing for Jaheira's mood, the connection flashed like the sun setting over the dunes. With a couple minor tweaks to her disguise and hair and she managed to summon up enough of the seductress to serve. Jaheira wrapped herself in the frozen cloak of the haughty ice queen, a woman who knew her beauty and treated the attentions of others as nothing more than her imperial due.

Turning the knight into a swaggering brute proved the greater challenge where she thought it would be easier. She had to talk around a core of propriety and decency forged of unbending inner iron. It _could_ serve if it had to, but refinement and proper manners were too uncommon amongst the guild for her to blend in. However, she found the gate to that inner core in going over the chosen dossier with Aleria one last time.

Aleria would be masquerading as one of the Shadowmaster's troubleshooters, Antonia. When the Shadowmaster wanted a message delivered outside the city via a few broken bones, Antonia was one of his top people. Made for great cover, for few knew her and her movements were erratic. Add in the woman claimed to be from the Spine and at least had the height and muscles to back it up, it was the perfect choice. Other than getting Aleria to act like a bone breaking thug. Well that was until she mentioned that Antonia had a problem with men. That was actually an understatement. Antonia was _exceptionally_ aggressive around them, often looking for the flimsiest excuse to pick a fight or start a brawl.

That nugget got both Jaheira and Aleria to exchange significant looks, complete with arched eyebrows and knowing smiles. Then Aleria sniggered out the name 'Shar Teel'. Jaheria smiled wickedly while Aleria chuckled out something about having to find something to do after Jaheira's lessoning. Unfortunately, neither woman was inclined to explain further, despite careful prodding.

She'd get the story later. For right now, whoever this Shar Teel was, it gave Aleria the proper frame of mind to play her role. Perhaps a bit much, as the knight started to ham it up and swagger like a stage ruffian, but with a little constructive criticism, she managed to get even that under control.

After a quick food break and further refinement, she took the show on the road, letting them work the kinks out of their performances in a couple of the taverns north of the docks. They performed well enough, especially for the short brief and training period. Even managed the right kind of trouble when a drunken patron played a little ass grab with Aleria. While it was a well sculpted backside, the man had to have been blind drunk or stupidly courageous to try it. But he did, and earned himself a savage elbow to the face for his trouble. After Aleria recovered her equilibrium, she whirled on the mewling drunk and delivered a cold, vicious verbal assault that left him sobbing and crawling away. It was a pitch perfect performance, it was funny, and best of all, a very grateful barmaid brought them free drinks.

Drunks, always providing the best in entertainment.

Now convinced she could walk into that meeting and the two of them wouldn't give her away in the first few minutes, she escorted the two women back to the Coronet. Her confidence found itself bolstered by how well the disguises worked even against Aleria's companions. They weren't totally fooled, especially not Yoshimo or Lord Corthala, but there was enough doubt and confusion at the initial meeting to give real hope that if no one looked really hard, they could pull this off.

Her relief also paired with a good bit of amusement at Aleira's companions reactions to the disguises. The reactions ran the gamut from Valygar's quiet assessment and Sir Keldorn's surprise but calm acceptance to the far more comical. Her favorites were the mage Kelsey's frenzied stammered apologies after backing into Aleria that ended with a surprised laugh as he recognized who the hulking woman was to Sir Anomen's open mouthed staring after both of them. Especially at Jaheira's bosom. Although Yoshimo took top honors with his pointedly appreciative commentary and ogling at Jaheira's cleavage, which nearly earned him a clout about the head and some amused grins around the table.

Thankfully, they were still professional, and after the rounds of approval and surprise, she got them back to mission planning. They were walking into an efreet's den with less intelligence than she wanted, even less time to plan and stakes so high they could ill afford to walk away from the table. So, with the plans laid as best at they could be, they broke for dinner. The plan called for them to separate after the dinner break and make their way to the Five Flagons in small units to reduce the chance that any counterspies would sniff them out.

Because it was her mission and her guild, she took the dangerous role of lead. She'd be the first in, scouting out the location alone. She was the only one she trusted enough and the others needed to travel in their groups to maintain the proper fictions. After a hurried meal and an enforced nap, she left the Coronet for the Bridge District and the Five Flagons.

The night darkened streets of Athkatla had always been hers, her private kingdom. But tonight, her realm had been transformed to an alien wasteland. The streets were empty, the night hawkers gone and workmen rushing along. The wariness of the daytime guards had been replaced by outright fear, the usually swaggering guard traveling in armored packs. Even the whores and courtesans and beggars, as much a fixture of the city as the temples and the Promenade, were nowhere to be seen.

This wasn't the wariness of a guildwar. She'd lived through one, when the old Shadowmaster died and there was a short but bloody struggle before Aran Linvail ended up on top. If anything, the night time business in the city had picked up. But now, this guildwar, everyone knew how deadly and dangerous it was. They might not know everything, that magic and vampires had come into play, but they knew enough to lie low and hide. As she worked her way north through abandoned streets, past the empty corners where Cheri should be plying her trade or Thingas hawking those 'discount potions', the fear that drove them from the streets started to get to her. Suddenly familiar shadows held packs of vampires. Or worse. Her crossbow was out, bolt fitted as she crept forward through silent darkened streets.

Near the south approach to the bridge, by an old abandoned foundry, she heard noise. Something skittering in the darkness. Swallowing hard, fighting back the urge to run, she worked closer to take a look. She had to get past the foundry to make the bridge, at least from this approach. Any other route would eat time she no longer had. Screwing up her courage, she snuck forward, hugging the outer wall. The crumbling brickwork powdered against her hand as she moved forward. Reaching the corner, she swung around on her quarry, crossbow ready. She had the drop on it. There was a terrible, screeching hiss and then it charged. She took aim, but the size was wrong. That split second realization was all that stopped some poor alley cat from taking a bolt in the face.

As the cat bounded into the darkness, she sunk to the mossy, littered ground, her heart thumping so hard it felt like it would rip out of her chest. She'd nearly put a bolt through a poor little ratter because she was scared. Terrified. In her own city. _Her city_.

Fear melted away under the unrelenting heat of raw fury. They were going to pay for doing this to her city. She was going to find out who they were, where they lived and she was going to _make them pay_. She'd hunt them to every corner and hiding hole, root them out and destroy them.

But first, she'd have to find them, and indulging in revenge fantasies on a dark street corner was not going to get that done. _Fantasies wait for the real work to be done_ Jocana instructed her as she'd ever other young girl. Shelving them for later, she picked herself up and headed for the Flagons.

She made her first approach by the rooftops, pulling herself up by the abandoned tannery and dancing across the tile shingles. No rooftop sentries and no obvious guards watching the street approaches. Surprised at that lack of preparation, she dropped back down to street level and made a careful, silent sweep, and came up dry again. Eye and ears perked at that obvious failure, she moved inside, studying the tap room with a lover's intensity, looking for opposites. Again, nothing, no one hiding amongst the few patrons brave enough to sample Thunderburp's famed hospitality.

It made no sense. Jaylos and Caehan were senior guild members, and any such high level meeting should involve backup. It could be their intelligence was dead wrong, that this wasn't the place Or the other guild's spotters were so good she couldn't spot a single one of them and she didn't have much to worry about because one of these super spies was about to slash her throat. But the worst and yet most likely option? They didn't even think the Shadow Thieves even qualified as a threat anymore.

Terrifyingly, they might just be right.

After finishing the rest of her sweep and coming up empty, she lifted a flagon of wine and slipped into the dining room slated for the meeting. Pouring a cup of fine Cormyrian red and she took a chair to the back that afforded her a commanding view of the entrances and settled in to wait.

The wait was no overlong before Aleria and Jaheira, or more appropriately now Antonia and Liseta crept in. Anyone watching them would have been satisfied with their approach, looking exceptionally wary as any person involved in such a meeting would be. She waved them in, Liseta perching on a chair to her right and Antonia actually managing to slouch to her left. Appropriating a cup for herself, the disguised knight asked, "Now what?"

"Now," she arched an eyebrow and pushed down her still smoldering anger. "We wait."


	16. Chapter 16 Hostile Negotations

**Chapter 16 - Hostile Negotiations**

They didn't have to wait long.

They'd been in position less than ten minutes when the door opened again. In swaggered Jaylos and Caehan. Well, at least Jaylos did. Caehan more scuttled his way through the door. If she had to lay her last coin, she'd gamble the man had never walked fully upright with his shoulders squared. Just wasn't in him. But Jaylos? Jaylos had enough confidence for the both of them.

They made an odd pair, the tall, swarthy, handsome Jaylos and the greyed out, rail thin Caehan. It wasn't just the physical differences or the clothing, Jaylos resplendent in bright colored silk and Caehan in dark grey homespun over armor. They even worked in different spheres in the guild, Jaylos the flamboyant, brash master of the dockside stews and Caehan the quiet, intense and disturbingly brilliant chief artificer. Even the gnomes held the odd little man in awe. But somehow, for reasons that still boggled both the spymasters and the gossips, these two mismatched men were the best of friends.

And important figures in the guild.

Seeing them here, ready to turn their cloaks and sharpen their daggers not just for the Shadowmaster but the ever shrinking circle of loyalists turned her stomach. The wine she'd swallowed turned to bile and it took a tremendous act of will to keep a smile on her face.

Didn't seem to be a problem for Jaylos. Then again, his smile was near constant and, if you were female, the kind of expression that made your skin crawl. She met his eyes levelly, and that smile dialed up another notch in smarminess. "Well, well, well, look at this gaggle of lovelies. Don't they just brighten the room, Caehan?"

"guessso," Caehan mumbled quickly.

"Jaylos, I knew it was you from the _scent_ of your cologne. From about a block away," Sime shot back with an icy, unpleasant smile. The smile warmed marginally as she nodded to Caehan. "And always a pleasure to see you Caehan."

"himisssime," the skinny artificer mumbled.

"Sime is ever the charmer," Jaylos drawled, hand resting on the hilt of an overjeweled rapier. "And she's also Darkshadow's pet. I take it these are your cat's paws?"

"Cat's paws?" grumbled Aleria, eyes narrowing.

"Would you prefer lackeys? Or perhaps Darkshadow's terriers?" Jaylos said with a superior smirk. "Or are you here on the Shadowmaster's direct order? The only muscle he could dredge up?"

This was _not_ going well. She'd figured that there'd be a chance they'd be suspicious, but she hadn't expected out and out accusation. He could just be feeling them out, or he could be expecting the ambush. Either way, her options were rapidly diminishing and she had to act if she was going to salvage this mission. "Isn't that good enough reason for us to be here, Jaylos? Or is that monstrosity of a hat overheating what little brain the gods gifted you?"

Caehan sniggered silently while Jaylos took a step forward, his rapier starting to slide out of its sheath. "So you admit it! You're his spies?"

Jaheira and Aleria took to their feet but she stayed sitting. Instead of going for steel, she bluffed. Leaning back, she put her feet on the table and took a sip of wine. "Jaylos, you dunce, if I was here as his spy, you'd be _dead_ already. But if you don't sheath that blade, Antonia here," she nodded at the frowning Aleria, "might just fix that problem."

"I don't see why we don't do it anyway," Aleria growled in a decent imitation of Antonia's 'diplomatic' tone.

"He is so very tiring," Jaheira said with pitch perfect icy boredom.

"Watch your mouths," Jaylos shot back haughtily, "or I'll cut you a second smile. This is between your betters."

"Watch my mouth?" Aleria laughed. "You men, all the same. Pretty words and not an ounce of real strength to back them up," She swaggered a step closer, sneering at the pimp. "You probably have no idea how to even use that pathetic, tiny sword." The sneer widened, the scar crinkling her face into something truly ugly. "Now, you apologize or I'll make you."

While she couldn't fault the pitch of the performance, the rest was a disaster. Jaylos had a well deserved reputation as a duelist and a hothead, never suffering an insult, especially from a woman. It was one of the least tasteful parts of his personality and as Aleria delivered the cutting remark, Jaylos flushed the same scarlet as his doublet.

"You bitch," he snarled, his hand tightening around his rapier hilt. "I'll give you a matching set of sca… arggghh!"

If she hadn't been watching so intently, watching her mission blow up in her face, she would have missed it. Aleria stepped in and grabbed Jaylos's sword arm and _twisted_. She used her height to full advantage, yanking his arm roughly up behind his back and slamming him face first into the table tressle, cheek hitting so hard the crockery jumped. Not to be outdone, Jaheira moved like quicksilver, a dagger up against Caehan's throat before the artificer could even move.

The shock carried her to her feet, watching the two of them in stunned silence. At least she managed to keep her jaw from hanging open.

"Now, you are going to apologize, yes?" Aleria asked almost sweetly and twisting Jaylos's arm more.

"Fuck you, you overgrown bitch!" Jaylos spat, trying to twist out of her grip and scrabble for the dagger at his hip.

"Wrong answer," Aleria intoned, jerking him upright and then slamming him into the table again. She twisted at the shoulders and Jaylos keened. "Now listen, you pathetic excuse for a male, last chance. Apologize or I'll keep twisting. Another half turn, the bones snap," Aleria's left shoulder dropped and Jaylos yelped, neck curling back and eyeballs bulging. Aleria continued on, her voice now almost predatory. "More and not even a priest can fix it properly."

"It's actually her specialty," Sime interjected, finally getting her feet back under her. The sudden violence from the usually staid knight had shocked her, but now as it faded, she had to applaud it. It sold the role, and she hadn't done anything permanently damaging. Damn clever this one. "Why do you think the Shadowmaster likes her so much," she intoned, putting her fists on the table and leaning in so she could look at the pimp's pained face. She _savored_ the expression and let Jaylos see her do it. "Now, try thinking for a change. Why would I be here? Antonia? Liseta? We heard the same pitch from Rhinna. Hell, I was front and center last night. We know the score, so you're that surprised a few of us are having thoughts like yours?"

"Well, I…" Jaylos stuttered.

"actuallymakeslotofsense," Caehan muttered.

"But I heard that they grabbed Rhinna, and then seeing Darkshadow's errand girl…" He yelped. "I mean _trusted lieutenant_ here…"

"Rhinna got sloppy," Sime said darkly. "Talked to the wrong person. She never was the brightest of girls, no matter how good she might have been for you."

Playing to his chauvinism seemed just the right tactic, but the man was still no fool. "But if she was found out…"

Time for a major gamble. _Tymora smile on me, please_. "And who do you think would be sent to take care of the problem?" She smiled as sweetly as she could.

"But… but…"

She patted his cheek. "I know. Gets all so complicated with the double double crossing. Now, why don't you to apologize to my friend and save your arm."

His eyes flicked around the room, from her face to Antonia's sneer and over to Caehan. He was trying to figure out if he was being played or not. Unfortunately, Jaylos never had been that clever. This was a problem because idiots like him often lacked the imagination to fool and she really didn't want to have to explain a body to the other guild's contact. Might make the meeting a little hard to complete successfully.

"Well, isn't this a lovely scene," a thin, raspy voice laughed from the direction of the doorway. "Always so much fun to see family get along _so_ well."

Heads snapped around to the door and the thin, cloaked figure leaning insouciantly against the doorjam. His hood was pulled down that only his mouth and stubbled chin showed from the shadows, but while she couldn't see his eyes, she could feel them. And the light, amused tone belied the edge of very deep suspicion coursing through the man.

The mission hung on a knife's edge. One slip and disaster.

Good thing she wasn't afraid of heights.

"Just a little disagreement," she said, smiling thinly at the interloper. "My friend here," she nodded to Jaylos, "Sometimes lets his mouth get away from him and my other friend has very _definite_ ideas on proper decorum." It was the perfect opening gambit, entirely truthful while not being _quite_ accurate.

"Mmmm…" The stranger's voice had a disturbing purr to it, a sibilance that grated at her ear. "I do so hate to interfere in lessons on etiquette, but I do have a bit of very profitable business to discuss with those who are listening."

Whoever their Hooded Man was, he was good. His cadence was near perfect, he almost managed to say that whole sentence without screaming code phrase. Brilliant done, with natural phrasing, near normal statement that could be explained by a bit of extra formality all wrapped in the cover of a high stress situation. A less trained ear would have missed it, and she still might have missed it if the rasp hadn't dropped a degree or two. Of course, she couldn't exactly waste time patting herself on the back because of one little detail.

She didn't have the proper reply phrase.

The person who did? Well, he was currently getting a very up close and personal interview with the table courtesy of a cranky paladin. She needed her to let him up, as much as it pained her to stop such instruction. Leaning forward, she rapped her knuckles on the table. Simple pattern. Two. One. Two. The code they'd established for 'Stand Down'.

Now, if Aleria would listen…

Aleria/Antonia glowered at the Hooded Man and then, with a very deliberate grimace, thumped Jaylos's head against the table. "Now behave," she grumbled and finally let the pimp go. As she sauntered back to her seat, Jaheira sheathed her knife and did the same.

Hooded Man chuckled softly as Jaylos straightened and very deliberately straightened his gaudy little outfit. Shooting a look of pure murder Aleria's way, one she returned with a hungry smile, the pimp turned to the Hooded Man. "I've always been discerning enough to listen to profitable business ventures, friend. So, take your ease and speak." He shoots his cuffs, glaring at the crushed velvet. "And it better be profitable to put up with such _savage_ behavior."

"Oh, that was just me being polite. You want to see savage, happy to oblige." Aleria/Antonia gibed. The paladin was having too much fun with this.

Jaylos glared and took a half step forward and again it looked like things were going to go to the Abyss, but the Hooded Man saved the situation with a well placed cough. "I assure you all that if you are all as capable as my Mistress believes, it will prove _extremely_ profitable. And civilized."

"Right. Civilized." Jaylos adjusted his sleeves and sat, ignoring the chuckling coming from the masquerading paladin. "And who is this Mistress?"

"Your future employer, of course," the answer was as smooth as polished glass.

"I am not some minor flunky or a lowly blade," grumbled Jaylos. "I run the most profitable pleasure facilities in all of Athkatla. I do not work for some mystery person."

"I am not much of a fan either," she added. A name would be exceptionally valuable, and she didn't even have to broach the question herself.

The Hooded Man gave them a measuring glance. "Very well. In honor of all of your rather superior gifts, I shall share the name. Her name is Bodhi and soon she will rule all of Athkatla's underworld."

The name was vital intelligence, but so was the reaction around the room. Or more appropriately, the _non_ reaction from Aleria and Jaheira. The half elf didn't even flinch and the reaction wouldn't have mattered but for the sudden straightening of Aleria's shoulders and back. They knew the name, at least in passing.

This kept on getting better and better. So should have kept heading north to Waterdeep when she'd made her escape all those years ago.

"Well, that part is obvious or we wouldn't be here, would we," Jaylos challenged.

"Of course," their contact said with a gracious nod.

"Well, we were told you would be laying out the terms of the agreement, so my new friend, we're listening."

"But of course," the Hooded Man said with a grin. Something about it struck her as decidedly predatory. "Now, in recognition of your more advanced skill sets…"

The Hooded Man started methodically laying out the parameters of employment with the new guild. He went over everything from assignments to percentage cuts. Walked through basic authority and reporting structure. It was a very thorough recruiting speech, hitting all the highlights.

As she listened, she felt her stomach sink further and further. Whoever this Bodhi was, she was too clever by half. On the one hand, she was squeezing the Guild materially, cutting off operations, taking out people and making their leaders look weak. With the other, she was offering employment for those 'smart' enough to turn coat. And the terms were brilliantly set out. Better percentages, more autonomy and flexibility, something every operator craved. Even worse was the fact the percentages weren't _that_ much better. Better yes, but sweeten the pot too much and any good operator, anyone above the thickest street tough would be looking for the poison in the cup.

By the end of his sales pitch, she felt the temptation as well. The pure operator and businesswoman in her head were studiously pointing out the benefits of switching sides and the real dangers of not. The Shadow Thieves as an organization was _hard_ pressed, facing a smart and powerful foe. One that was quickly eroding the Shadowmaster's power base. Sure there were loyalists, but many to their leaders, not necessarily to the Organization or the Shadowmaster. A few more senior members went over and it'd be over, even with Aleria and her companions' help.

But as much reason there might be in entertaining the offer, there was another cold, hard reality. Whoever this Bodhi, she had vampires on the payroll. If she'd do that, what else would she do?

The Hooded Man wrapped up his pitch and smiled. "Now of course, there is still room to negotiate, but those negotiations will have to happen in person. I assume you'd be interested in meeting my Mistress?"

The tension in the room soared as they were plunged into silence. Caehan shot Jaylos a questioning look and Jaylos was either putting on a face or actually was conflicted. Hard to believe that the mercenary bastard could have a sense of loyalty, but it was _possible_. Aleria and Jaheira looked tense and thoughtful as well, and it wasn't just acting. She caught a quick look between them, well hidden, but there was enough of something in it to make the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

"Agreed," Jaylos said, finally breaking the silence. Caehan bobbed his head in agreement. She followed up and her two partners added their own assents.

The Hooded Man grinned. "Excellent." He pulled out a small bag from his jacket with the exaggerated caution required for such a meeting. "I can take you to my Mistress right now so you can complete your negotiations. You simply need to wear these." He pulled out five necklaces, each consisting of a leather thong and a small, simple medallion.

"You aren't serious, are you?" Jaylos snorted. "Medallions? Why don't we hang targets on our backs for both the Guard and what little remains of Linvail's flunkies?"

"I understand your hesitance," the contact purred, laying the medallions on the trestle table. "But it is part of our security procedures. My Mistress is a very private person and one with many powerful enemies. As such, she has taken certain precautions against unwelcome guests. These medallions get you past the more… static defenses."

"recognizethesigils. ."

"A good eye, Caehan. It was a necessity due to the ancient magics of the place."

"Magic?" Jaylos paled and everyone tensed at the table.

"An unfortunate necessity. But I assure you, the amulets are completely safe. They will not harm you in the least."

It took an effort not to grin. The contact had given them an approximate location, the leader's name and a way past the defenses in one fell swoop. Confidence can be a powerful sales method, but when it went it over to hubris, well, that just left you open for the knife. But this fool had actually _given_ them the knife.

Caehan was the first to reach for an amulet and Jaylos followed. She was going to the same when Aleria leaned forward with a drawn knife. Everyone tensed, bare steel causing a natural allergic reaction to everyone in her field. The paladin flipped the knife blade under one of the thongs and lifted it, giving the small brass medallion a hard look.

"If you would like another finish, I'm sure we can arrange it," the Hooded Man said with a small grin.

"You all wear these ugly things?"

"Indeed." He opened his shirt to show another one, this one more engraved then the others.

"I see." Aleria gave the medallion another look and then shot a look across the table at Jaheira.

The half elf flipped another up with the point of her dagger, giving it a slow, careful appraisal. One dyed blonde eyebrow arched minimally.

Something was up. Something with the medallions. Jaheira shifted in her chair, leaning her left elbow onto the trestle.

_Danger. Prepare._

"Definitely _unnatural_," Jaheira said darkly.

"Dark magic. Not just protection magic, but something unholy," Aleria said, her diction slipping back to her usual cadence. "But I'm not sure."

"Enchantment? Unholy?" Jaylos sputtered, looking at the medallion like it was a live snake. He tossed it away from himself.

No, he _tried_.

It was a trap. She stared at the amulet, just a few inches from her outstretched hand. Her hand flew to her blade. No wonder they were being so free with information. They weren't _recruiting_. They were assassinating.

"How very perceptive of you," the Hooded Man said, standing with inhuman speed. "But then again, one would have to expect that from a … priest? No, a paladin. The sanctimony does have a certain stench."

Aleria and Jaheira kicked away their chairs, and the Hooded Man laughed. "Oh, it gets better, doesn't it? Not just any paladin, but the one the mistress wants most. Aleria of Candlekeep… and her pet half elf? Excellent."

He tapped his amulet and then grinned at Jaylos and Caehan. "Kill Sime, keep the other two occupied while my assistants arrive."

Hopping to her feet, she watched in shock as Caehan and Jaylos followed orders. The artificer drew a wickedly curved knife and Jaylos produced his rapier. Eyes wide with terror, they charged forward.

Jaheira and Aleria were waiting. Aleria drew her heavy bladed sword while Jaheira produced a second dagger. She drew steel, and more importantly, crushed the small crystal that Kelsey had given her. She didn't doubt the others had, but she wanted to live through the next few minutes. Making stupid assumptions was not the way to do it.

Jaheira slashed out at the oncoming artificer, the skinny man just barely dancing out the way while Aleria slashed out at Jaylos. The pimp countered and riposted, forcing the knight to have to dodge to the side. Battle raged along both sides of table, leaving her nowhere to go. But by Tymora, she wasn't just going to stand there.

She improvised. The wine pitcher was full and crafted of heavy ceramic. So, she whipped at the Hooded Man as he reached for his sword. The pitcher arced high and wide, the man dodging to the side with frightening speed. Of course, that put him right in the path of one of her throwing knives. The man, if he was a man, grunted as the knife struck his arm and then ripped it out. If there was blood, she didn't see it, but she did see him hurl it back.

Or more importantly, she didn't. As soon as his hand closed over the handle, she knew it was coming back. Not wanting a dagger to the forehead, she ducked under the table. The knife whistled overhead and thunked into the wall behind her. And _vibrated_.

If he could throw that hard, she had no intention of staying one place. Keeping low, she darted left, using the table as cover. Seeing a clear shot, she threw her next knife for his left boot. Again the bastard moved, shouting shrilly and _leaping_ onto the table.

Tymora's left tit, things were bad. Around her, the room descended into madness. Steel rang on steel and Aleria and Jaheira loosed battle cries. To her right, she heard a scream and saw Caehan's legs wobble. Feeling helpful, she kicked a chair into the knees of the bleeding artificer. Poor Caehan never had been much of a fighter, and she almost felt bad as he crashed to the floor, a hideous wound across his stomach. Not trusting him to stay down, she slid her sword into his ribs.

She broke cover as the Hooded Man leap down and press Jaheira back. Blades flashed and the druid gave ground quickly. The Hooded Man was just so fast. She was out of position, but Jaheira needed help.

On her right, Aleria and Jaylos were still at knife edge, the pimp living up to his reputation as a skilled bladesman. He still stood, despite a number of slashes to his brilliant outfit. But he'd given just as good and a long slice was open just above Aleria's left bracer and blood trickled down her right arm from around the shoulder. She made a snap decision, not caring if Aleria might be offended for ruining her single combat, and winged her third dagger at Jaylos's exposed back. Her aim was true, the knife burying itself in the small of his back. With a strangled cry, he clutched at it and Aleria took advantage. A quick, brutal swing and Jaylos collapsed in a spray of scarlet.

Not even waiting for him to fall, Aleria leapt onto the table and threw herself at the Hooded Man. Their blades met in a shower of sparks, and Jaheira moved to flank. Gritting her teeth, she rounded the corner of the table, heading for his exposed back.

They saw the opening and pressed hard, driving him back. No fool, he sensed the danger. His back tensed and his shoulders bunched, obviously looking for a way to turn for the wall. Not willing to give him time, she rushed forward. He tried to turn to meet her, but Aleria and Jaheira pressed their attacks as she closed those last few steps.

She put her full strength behind her blow, aiming right where Herrick had taught her, the space where the back began to curve back in. He knew it was coming, tried to twist away, but the point of her sword struck home. Drove deep. To the hilt. She missed the spine, but the blade went deep. Would have gone right through the kidneys.

But there was no blood.

_Vampire_.

He twisted hard, ripping the blade from his back and ruining her balance. Shoulder slamming into the wall, she grunted, a spear of flaming pain shooting through her arm. It took all her will to not drop her blade from suddenly numb fingers. The Hooded Man shouted defiance, lashing out with his short blade and Jaheira cried out, a long bloody line cut into her corset. The half elf staggered backwards.

"You will pay!" He screamed as heavy boots sounded from the hallway. "Shame you ruined those two, they would have made excellent food." Sharp canines flashed in the candlelight. "But we have plenty. And soon you'll both be joining their ranks!"

"Tyr take you, fiend!" Aleria shouted, slashing out and just missing him.

"Too late, little knight. Too bad you didn't bring that pretty holy blade of yours!"

Her arm was numb, she couldn't make the fingers work. But she couldn't leave Aleria to fight the vampire alone. And as the bastard taunted, she saw it. He'd put too much weight on the left leg. He might not bleed, but he still needed balance. Gritting her teeth, she flung herself at his knee and grunted with fresh pain as her shoulder slammed into the joint.

He howled, leg buckling.

She rolled away and Aleria struck, plunging the sword into his chest. He gasped, arms flailing and eyes wide. Steam rose from the wound.

"How? How?" he keened in bubbling shock.

"The Blade is power, but without the hand that wields it, it is just steel." Eyes blazing, Aleria twisted the hilts. "For Tyr!"

The blade flashed white and fire blossomed from the wound. The Hooded Man screamed once before the fire consumed him.

The door burst open, the splinters mingling with the ash drifting to the floor. Lord Corthala charged in, twin blades in his hands and eyes hard as steel. Yoshimo and Kelsey followed, naked steel in the Kara-Turan's hand while lightening crackled on the mage's fingers. Their charge ended quickly, Lord Corthala arched an eyebrow, surveyed the room and lowered his blades.

Aleria shook her blade, sending ash skittering off the blade. There might have been a smile on her face. "You're late."

"My apologies," Lord Corthala said, a hint of a smile on his face as he sheathed his swords. Again, she thought she caught a hint of a smile on the dark skinned man's face, but she wouldn't swear to it, not even under the knife. "Things got … complicated below. Are you all alright?"

"Well enough," Jaheira said. She held a hand to her stomach. She murmured a few words and a brief, blessed moment, the scent of fresh flowers overpowered the smell of blood and worse.

"Sir Keldorn and Anomen?" Aleria asked quickly.

"Handling the complications in a most uncomplicated manner," Yoshimo laughed. "And my dear Aleria, you need to stop having all the fun."

It was Kelsey who answered him. "You know Yoshimo, you have the strangest ideas of fun."

Valygar snorted and scanned the wreckage of the room. "So, the meeting did not go according to plan?"

"No, but we were successful. It seems our mystery 'friend'," the contempt in Aleria's voice was palpable. "Bodhi is behind this guild war. But we know more about where she's located. Perhaps even…"

_Mystery friend_. It kicked off a cascade in her thoughts, enough so that whatever else Aleria was saying only registered subconsciously. _How much outside help, how many other adventurers has she recruited? How many more vampires? To put one here either meant that this was a high priority mission or … she had dozens of them. That they could be expendable assets._ She shivered at the thought. _But still, why executions? Jaylos and Caehan were useful. You didn't just throw away such useful things unless…_

She straightened, staring at the table, the amulets. _What had he said? Very soon? He looked so confident… what if it wasn't bravado? Why wouldn't you recruit anymore? Because you were ready._

"Are you alright?" Aleria's disguised face was peering into hers, with a rather odd look of concern on her face due to the fake scars.

"I am." She rotated the shoulder, feeling coming back. It would bruise badly, but she'd taken far worse in her life. "But we have a problem. This was an assassination, not a recruitment."

"So it seems," Jaheira said matter of factly.

"You don't realize how important those two were." She stared at Caehan's body, how his wan face looked even more waxen in death. "They were senior, had impressive skills and contacts. And the only reason you'd eliminate people like them, like me? Is if you didn't _need_ us. Whatever Bodhi's been working towards, she's ready. She's going to hit us… I mean the guild. We need to warn the Shadowmaster."

It was a good thing she hadn't expected the others to rally and rush off, because if she had, she would have been sorely disappointed. No matter what her feelings on the subject were, they were still allies of convenience. Allies who might not entirely mind the loss of the Shadow Thieves.

"You think she is moving to end game?" Jaheira said carefully before studying the bodies strewn about the room.

"It is the only logical conclusion. The amulets, whatever they are, were just to make us docile. We might have been interrogated… or…" She shivered.

"Fed to the shock troops," Lord Corthala finished. "The assault team had at least two fledglings backing up the thugs."

Aleria nodded. "Then perhaps we have caught a march on them."

"But it will not be long before they realize this action has failed," Jaheira added.

"No doubt. Probably a cut out or two watching for an assault team." She shook her head. "And I don't know how I missed them."

"We all did," Lord Corthala interjected. "But we stopped them."

"The problem becomes stopping the hammer blow. I somehow doubt there is other help for Imoen in this city." Aleria's tone was level, but her knuckles went white as she gripped the chair. "And there are too many bodies. The guard needs be involved…"

She couldn't help the stare she gave the knight. Involving the guard in something like this would burn every advantage they had.

"A solution presents itself," Lord Corthala interjected. "Myself, Sir Keldorn and young Anomen can deal with the guard. I know the senior officer of the district, and Aegisfield is a good man."

"And we will escort Sime back to the docks." Aleria nodded sagely. "The information is important and…" She plucked at a slice in her cuirass. "I will feel much better in my armor again."

"Thunderburp will be quite… vexed with me. But I think he will forgive me." Lord Corthala almost seemed to smile.

"You have an honest, forgivable face, my friend." Aleria clasped hands with the dark skinned noble. "But be quick about it. I have a feeling things are going to get much worse before they get better, and I want your blade at my side."

"You will have it. Now go."


End file.
